NEIGHBORS'  WIVES. 


J.    T.    TROWBRIDGE, 

AUTHOR  OF  "NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD,"  "FATHER  BRIGHTHOPES,"  KTO. 


BOSTON: 
L,  E  E      AND       SHEPARD. 

1867. 


Entered  accordftng  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1867,  by 

J.   T.   TROWBRIDGE, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachus 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGK 

I.  THE  ADOPTED  SISTER, 7 

II.  MR.  TASSO  SMITH  AND  THE  APJOHNS,  ...  20 

III.  ABSENCE, 30 

IV.  MRS.  APJOHN'S  ADVENTURE,  .....  35 
V.   COOPER  JOHN  TO  THE  KESCUE,    ....  41 

VI.   SUNDAY  EVENING  AT  ABEL'S,         ....  53 

VII.   MR.  SMITH'S  FRIEND'S  JEWELS,  .        .    "  .        .  63 

VIII.  FAUSTINA'S  TANGLED  WEB, 71 

IX.   FAUSTINA  RETURNS  MRS.  AP JOHN'S  VISIT,         .  78 

X.  FAUSTINA'S  SUSPENSE, 85 

XL  TASSO' s  REVENGE, 91 

XII.  THE  GUILTY  CONSCIENCE, 104 

XIII.  THE  SAD  CASE  OF  THE  COOPER,          ...  114 

XIV.  MORE  AND  MORE  ENTANGLED,          ....  123 
XV.   TRAGICAL, 138 

XVI.   THE  ARREST, 145 

XVII.   FAUSTINA  CONSOLES  HERSELF,      ....  155 

XVIII.   "  HE  ENTERED  IN  HIS  HOUSE,  HIS  HOME  NO  MORE,"  159 

XIX.   HUSBAND  AND  WIFE,                      ....  164 

XX.  THE  RETURN  OF  ELIZA, 172 

(III) 


M5S0374 


iv  Contents. 

XXI.   HOME  ONCE  MOKE, 181 

XXII.  ANOTHER  SUNDAY, 189 

XXIII.  ABEL  AND  ELIZA, 199 

XX IY.   THE  NIGHT, 207 

XXV.   FIAT  JUSTITIA, 220 

XXVI.   THROUGH  PRISON-BARS, 235 

XXVII.   THE  CONVICT'S  BEAUTIFUL  WIFE,      ...        247 

XXVIII.   THE  CONVICT'S  CHRISTIAN  NEIGHBORS,         .        .    254 

XXIX.  IN  JAIL.    LEAVE-TAKING, 260 

XXX.  THE  OLD  LADY  TAKES  FINAL  LEAVE,  .        .        .270 

XXXI.  THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END,     ....        281 
XXXH.  Miss  JONES  AND  MR.  SMITH,          .        .        .        .291 

XXXIII.  ELIZA'S  MISSION, 300 

XXXIV.  ELIZA  AND  THE  GOVERNOR, 303 

XXXV.  DELIVERANCE, .309 

XXXVI.  HOME,    .  ...    313 


NEIGHBORS'  WIVES. 


i. 

THE  ADOPTED  SISTER. 

T  was  three  years  since  old  Abel  Dane  laid  down 
the  compass  and  the  chisel  on  his  work-bench  in 
the  old  shop,  and  himself  on  his  bed  in  the  new 
house  which  he  had  so  lately  built  for  his  com 
fort,  and  which  he  never  left  again  until  he  was  carried 
out  by  his  neighbors. 

"  To  be  sure  !  "  moralized  one  of  the  pall-bearers,  on 
that  occasion,  —  a  pale,  meagre,  bald  little  man,  John 
Apjohn  by  name,  and  a  cooper  by  trade, — "it's  with 
houses  as  'tis  with  every  other  airthly  blessin'.  We're 
no  sooner  ready  to  enjoy  'em  than  either  they  go  or  we 
go.  Here's  neighbor  Dane,  been  so  busy  building  houses 
for  other  people  all  his  life  that  he  never  had -time  till 
now  to  build  one  for  himself ;  and  to  think  on  't !  "  said 
the  cooper,  with  mournful,  wondering  eyes,  "  there  the 
house  is,  and  here  he  is  a-goin'  to  his  final  home,  and 
leavin'  ever}rthing  to  his  heir  !  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure  !  " 
and  he  shook  his  head  solemnly  at  the  decrees  of  fate. 

(7) 


8  Neighbors'    Wives. 

The  heir  mentioned  was  Abel  Dane  the  younger,  who 
inherited  his  father's  trade,  the  old  shop,  the  new  house, 
and  a  faithful  foster-sister. 

It  was  three  years  since  that  dark  day  in  autumn  ;  and 
now  just  such  another  dark  day  in  the  fall  of  the  year 
was  drawing  to  a  close  ;  and  Abel's  foster-sister,  having 
set  the  supper-table,  took  her  favorite  place  at  the  win 
dow  to  watch  for  his  coming.  And  there,  sitting  in  the 
cheerful  room,  which  would  soon  be  made  more  cheerful 
by  his  presence  ;  remembering  the  sad  day  of  the  fu 
neral,  so  like  this  day  ;  thinking  of  all  God's  mercies  to 
her,  before  and  since,  —  to  her,  a  poor  orphan,  so  un 
worthy  such  a  home  and  such  a  brother  ;  looking  across 
the  gloomy  common,  whose  very  bleakness  enhanced  her 
sense  of  life-warm  comfort  in  house  and  heart,  she  saw, 
through  thick  tears  of  happiness,  which  magnified  him 
into  a  glimmering  seraph,  with  irregular,  shining  wings, 
her  "  more  than  brother,"  returning. 

Across  the  brown  common,  under  the  wild  elm- 
boughs  swinging  in  the  wind,  he  came  rapidly  walking. 
He  stopped  to  leave  some  tools  he  carried  at  the  shop, 
and  that  gave  the  little  housekeeper  time  to  get  the  tea 
and  toast  on  the  table.  Then  she  drew  up  the  invalid's 
chair,  beat  the  cushion,  and  helped  the  invalid  to  her 
seat,  —  for  this  was  another  important  item  of  Abel's 
inheritance  which  we  have  neglected  to  mention,  namely, 
a  paralytic  mother.  She  was  a  cheerful  old  Christian, 
with  the  most  benignant  of  double  chins,  in  the  full  pos 
session  of  her  mental  faculties,  but  physically  shattered. 


The  Adopted  Sister.  9 

She  had  suffered  two  or  three  strokes,  the  last  of  which 
had  produced  a  singular  effect  upon  her  organs  of 
speech. 

"  Thank  you,  Gridiron,"  said  she,  —  for  this  was  the 
oddity  of  it,  that  sometimes  she  could  not  speak  at  all, 
and  sometimes  she  suddenly  shot  out  the  most  unex 
pected  and  irrelevant  speeches  quite  involuntarily;  and 
sometimes  when  she  meant  to  say  one  word,  another 
ludicrously  inappropriate  would  drop  out  in  its  place, 
as  much  to  her  own  astonishment  as  anybody's.  The 
name  of  her  adopted  daughter  was  Eliza  ;  but  the  near 
est  she  could  come  to  it  at  that  moment  was  Grid 
iron. 

Abel  washed  his  stout  carpenter's  hands  at  the  sink, 
kicked  off  his  boots,  slipped  on  his  slippers,  and  the 
three  sat  around  the  little  table  together,  Abel  opposite 
Eliza, —  a  goodly  young  man  and  a  strong,  brown- 
cheeked  and  chestnut-haired,  with  a  countenance  not 
lacking  in  brightness  generally,  and  particularly  radiant 
on  this  occasion. 

Eliza  noticed  his  gayety,  and  was  glad.  They  were 
not  lovers,  though  she  loved  him.  She  had  never  con 
fessed  to  herself  that  she  hoped  in  her  inmost  heart  to 
be  nearer  and  dearer  to  him  some  day  than  she  was  now. 
To  be  to  him  what  she  was  seemed  happiness  enough,  — 
his  sister,  his  servant,  —  his,  whom  it  was  so  sweet  to 
serve  :  preparing  his  meals,  which  it  was  her  meat  and 
her  drink  to  see  him  eat  with  appetite  ;  making  his  bed 
and  smoothing  his  dear  pillow,  with  hands  magnetic 


io  Neighbors'    Wives. 

with  affection  ;  stealing  his  boots,  and  blacking  them, 
with  the  delight  which  love-lends  to  the  meanest  occupa 
tion  ;  reading  to  him  evenings  and  Sundays,  or  hearing 
him  read  from  the  books  that  gave  her  a  twofold 
pleasure  because  he  enjoyed  them  ;  living  thus  day 
after  day  and  year  after  year  in  the  nourishing  atmos 
phere  of  his  out-going  and  in-coming,  and  satisfied  to 
live  on  thus  forever. 

And  now,  without  questioning  what  made  Abel  so 
joyous,  she  was  joyous  too  ;  for  this  is  the  blessedness 
of  love,  that  it  annihilates  selfishness,  and  makes  us 
happy  in  others'  happiness.  Filling  the  cups,  she  poured 
her  own  thankful  spirit  into  them  with  the  fragrant  bev 
erage,  and  sweetened  them,  not  with  sugar  only,  but 
with  her  own  spiritual  sweetness,  which  both  Abel  and 
his  mother  tasted  in  the  tea  she  made  and  gave  them, 
and  missed  in  that  which  others  made  and  gave  them, 
without  comprehending  the  subtle  cause. 

"  Have  another  cup,  mother  ?  " 

"No,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  lady.  "But  I'll  thank 
you  for  a  piece  of  the  contribution-box." 

She  meant  to  ask  for  cheese.  Then  she  laughed  at 
herself,  half- vexed.  Abel  roared  with  mirth.  And  Eliza 
said,  —  for  Eliza  was  the  wit  of  the  family,  — 

"  I'm  sure,  old  cheese  bears  a  strong  resemblance  to  a 
contribution-box  ;  for  when  it  is  passed  around,  you 
often  find  a  few  mites  in  it." 

Upon  which  Abel  flashed  his  beaming  eyes  upon  his 
foster-sister.  He  was  going  to  compliment  her  wit ;  but 


The  Adopted  Sister.  1 1 

something  better  than  that,  —  something  glowing  in  her 
face,  —  attracted  his  attention. 

"  Why,  'Liza  !  how  handsome  you  are  to-night  !  " 

Now  Eliza  was  not  handsome,  and  she  knew  it.  She 
knew  that  she  was  a  plain  little  girl.  She  did  not  doubt, 
however,  but  that  Abel  saw  something  pleasing  in  her 
tace  just  then,  and  the  delicious  consciousness  made  her 
blush  like  a  rose. 

"  Positively  beautiful !  ain't  she,  mother  ?  "  cried  Abel, 
with  fond  enthusiasm. 

"  She  is  always  beautiful  to  me,  she  is  always  so  good," 
the  old  woman  managed  to  say,  without  a  slip. 

"  A  beautiful  soul  makes  a  beautiful  face,  they  say," 
added  Abel.  "  Consequently  a  beautiful  face  indicates 
a  beautiful  soul,  don't  it  ?  "  —  with  a  gay,  triumphant 
smile,  which  Eliza  did  not  understand  till  two  hours 
later,  —  thinking,  poor  child,  that  his  words  referred  to 
her. 

But,  two  hours  later,  Mrs.  Dane  having  fallen  asleep 
in  her  chair,  and  Abel  having  shut  the  book  he  was 
reading,  and  taken  Eliza's  work  out  of  her  hand,  they 
two  sat  together  before  the  fire,  which  blazed  up 
brightly  with  shavings  from  the  shop,  and  Abel  looked 
into  her  face  with  ardent  eyes. 

"  'Liza,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  something." 

A  sweet  tremor  rippled  all  over  her,  as  if  she  had 
been  a  fountain,  and  his  breath  the  warm  south  wind. 
She  looked  through  his  eyes  into  his  soul,  and  saw  love 
there;  while  he  looked  —  not  into  her  soul. 


12  Neighbors'  Wives. 

"  It  is  my  heart's  secret,"  he  went  on  ;  for  she  was 
dumb  with  fear  and  gladness.  "  I  have  wanted  to  tell 
you;  I  hope  it  will  make  you  happy.  "We  can't  live  al 
ways  in  the  way  we  do,  you  know;  and  I  never  can 
think  of  parting  from  you,  'Liza." 

How  she  trembled  !  And  now  she  felt  a  growing 
terror  in  her  joy  ;  for,  to  one  whose  daily  life  is  blessed, 
the  thought  of  a  great  change,  whether  for  good  or  evil, 
comes  like  a  portentous  shadow. 

"  So  I  have  concluded  it  is  best  to  be  married.  I  am 
going  to  be  married,  'Liza.  When  we  were  talking  of 
faces,  do  you  know  whose  face  I  was  thinking  of  ?  The 
most  beautiful  face  in  all  this  world  !  Her  face  who 
wrote  this  letter  which  I  got  to-day,  and  which  has 
made  me  the  happiest  of  men.  You  may  read  it,  'Liza." 

He  placed  it  in  her  hands.  It  dropped  from  them  to 
the  floor.  She  sat  rigid,  speechless,  pallid  —  a  spasm  of 
misery  in  her  face,  something  like  death  in  her  heart. 

"  Won't  you  read  it  ?  "  He  stooped  to  pick  up  the 
letter.  "  Don't  think  her  coming  into  the  family  will 
make  any  difference  with  you.  We  will  all  live  here 
together.  You  will  always  have  a  home  here  with  us  ; 
you  will  love  her;  you  can't  help  it,  Eliza."  He  re 
garded  her  a  minute  in  silence,  his  brows  darkening. 
"  You  disappoint  me,"  he  added,  heavily  ;  "  I  didn't 
expect  you  would  receive  the  news  in  this  way.  Don't 
you  like  Faustina  ?  " 

"I  think  —  she  is  —  very  pretty,"  poor  Eliza  forced 
her  despairing  lips  to  say. 


The  Adopted  Sister.  13 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  object  to  her  ?  " 

"I?  object?  Oh,  I  don't!— if  you  can  make  her 
happy," 

"What  made  you  look  so,  then,  when  I  told  you? 
It  made  my  heart  sick.  And  now  that  smile  is  worse 
yet  —  such  a  wretched  smile  !  I  see  you  don't  approve 
of  my  choice,"  turning  away  resentfully.  "  I  wanted 
3Tou,  of  all  persons,  to  love  and  welcome  her.  But  never 
mind." 

"  Oh,  Abel !  "  she  chokingly  said,  "  don't  blame  me. 
I  can't  bear  it.  I  —  I  am  glad  —  I  will  be  glad  —  for 
your  sake." 

"  You  act  glad,  surely  !  "  grinned  Abel,  sarcastic;  for 
he  thought  her  unreasonable,  unkind;  and  so  he  stabbed 
her  with  a  look  to  punish  her. 

"  Mother  —  I  think  of  her,"  gasped  the  miserable 
girl;  "so  old,  with  her  infirmity,  which  every  person 
will  not  bear  with,  and  cherish  her  all  the  more  tenderly 
for,  as  we  do."  And  covering  her  face,  she  shook  with 
a  violent,  convulsive  breath,  but  did  not  sob. 

Abel  frowned  at  what  he  considered  a  mean  insinu 
ation  against  his  beautiful  Faustina;  and,  holding  the 
letter  in  his  hand,  looked  moodily  at  the  fire,  utterly  ig 
norant  and  regardless  of  the  agony  in  the  weak  woman's 
breast  at  his  side.  "  A  girl's  caprice ;  a  little  trait  of 
envy.  —  angry,  perhaps,  because  I  haven't  consulted  her 
before;  but  she'll  be  sorry  for  it;  and  if  she  isn't,  why, 
I  shall  be  independent  of  her"-— with  such  a  glorious 
young  creature  for  his  wife  !  And  the  young  man  self- 


14  Neighbor^  Wives. 

ishly  calculated  the  slight  loss  it  would  be  to  him,  even 
if  Eliza  should  carry  her  resentment  so  far  as  to  leave 
his  house;  not,  of  course,  seriously  supposing  such  an 
event  possible. 

Eliza  conquered  her  agony,  uncovered  her  face,  and 
quietly  resumed  her  work.  And  there  they  sat  by  the 
lire,  in  silence,  with  such  different  thoughts !  Silence 
which  rose  like  a  rock  in  their  hitherto  united  lives,  its 
•hardness  and  coldness  sundering  them,  —  two  separate 
streams  henceforth,  with  leagues  of  misunderstanding 
and  estrangement  broadening  between  them.  Did  you 
never  feel  such  a  rock  rise  between  you  and  one  yon 
loved  ?  and  see  the  stream  of  his  future  flow  toward 
flowery  embowered  vistas  of  hope,  while  yours  took  a 
sudden  plunge  into  some  chilly,  unsunned,  melancholy 
cave? 

"  Well,  children,"  said  the  old  lady,  waking,  "  I  guess 
I'll  — night-cap!  " 

"  Go  to  bed  ?  "  said  Abel. 

"Yes,  —  I  believe  I  was  almost  asleep;  but  I  didn't 

quite  lose  myself,  did  I  ?    Evenings  are  growing  longer. 

Interesting  story  —  where  did  you  leave  off  ?     I'm  so  " 

—  touching  her  forehead  —  "  what  do  you  call  it  ?  — 

jewsharp." 

"  Absent-minded,"  suggested  Abel. 

That  was  the  word.  And  so  she  went  off  to  bed,  try 
ing  to  recall  the  story  they  had  been  reading  ;  but  catch 
ing  not  even,  a  hint  of  the  drama  they  had  been  actmn 
before  her  face.  Such  is  life;  and  such  are  its  specta- 


The  Adopted  Sister.  15 

tors.  Daily  and  nightly,  in  street  and  dwelling,  even 
under  the  roofs  where  we  abide,  and  in  the  very  rooms 
where  we  meet  to  laugh  and  sing  away  the  hours  to 
gether,  tragedies  are  acting  in  that  little  theatre,  the 
heart,  and  we  catch  so  seldom  any  hint  of  them  ! 

Eliza  conducted  Mrs.  Dane  to  her  chamber;  nor  did 
she  return  to  sit  a  little  while  alone  with  Abel  as  usual, 
but  went  to  her  own  room,  unlighted,  and  shut  herself 
up  there  with  the  dark  and  cold. 

And  now  once  more  kneeling,  with  her  throbbing  head 
pressed  against  the  casement,  she  looked  across  the 
bleak  common,  where  the  wild  elm-boughs  were  sway 
ing  in  the  wind,  and  the  pallid  moonlight  fell.  The 
loose  leaves  rustled  along  the  ground  under  the  win 
dow.  The  gables  moaned  and  thrilled,  and  the  lone 
crickets  sang.  And  remembering  how  lately  the  out 
door  desolation  had  enhanced  her  idea  of  life-warm 
comfort  within,  she  thought  her  heart  would  burst. 

Leaves  of  the  dying  autumn  !  moonlight  spread  so 
white  and  cold  over  the  face  of  the  night !  crickets 
and  whistling  wind  !  who  gave  you  your  power  over  the 
human  soul  ?  and  why  do  you  pierce  and  wring  the 
heart  of  a  poor  girl,  pierced  and  wrung  enough  already 
with  unrequited  love  ?  N~o  wonder  our  forefathers 
thought  the  moonlight  fairy-haunted,  and  deemed  the 
waving  elder-boughs  the  beckoning  fingers  of  elves. 

The  next  day,  just  a  little  paler  than  usual,  but  quite 
self-possessed,  Eliza  went  about  her  household-work. 
She  was  the  same  to  Abel,  in  most  outward  things,  as  she 


1 6  Neighbors'   Wives. 

had  ever  been;  but  oh,  the  hidden  mind  !  This  Abel 
could  not  see.  He  resented  her  last  night's  conduct,  and 
waited  for  her  to  come  to  him  humbly  and  ask  his  forgive 
ness,  when  he  intended  to  pardon  her  magnanimously, 
after  administering  a  fitting  rebuke,  and  then  be  again 
to  her  the  kind  brother  he  had  always  been,  and  always 
meant  to  be,  in  spite  of  her  faults.  He  had  even  pondered 
what  he  ought  to  say  to  her  on  that  occasion.  And  in 
the  mean  time  he  treated  her  with  very  proper  reserve. 

The  days  passed,  the  leaves  all  fell  from  the  trees ;  it 
was  now  November;  and  Eliza,  having  worked  indus 
triously  to  prepare  the  house  for  the  coming  bride,  when 
all  was  done,  requested  Abel,  one  Sunday  afternoon,  to 
grant  her  a  few  minutes'  conversation.  The  generous 
young  man  put  aside  his  newspaper,  and  appeared  quite 
ready  to  receive  her  penitent  confession. 
-  "  Well,  Eliza,  what  is  it  ?  "  he  said,  encouragingly, 
trying  to  recall  his  speech. 

"  I  thought  you  ought  to  know,"  she  began,  in  a  very 
low,  slightly  tremulous  voice,  "  that  I  —  am  going  away 
to-morrow." 

Abel  forgot  his  speech,  —  opened  his  eyes. 

"Going!  where  ?" 

"  I  think  —  to  Lowell." 

"  To  Lowell  !  what  for  ?    Not  to  stay  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  quietly,  "  if  I  can  find  work  in 
the  mills." 

"The  mills  !"  ejaculated  Abel,  frowningly.  "What 
are  you  talking  of  work  in  the  mills  for  ?  " 


The  Adopted  Sister.  17 

"  Because  I  shall  not  be  needed  here  any  more,  and  I 
must  get  my  living." 

"  Eliza,"  said  Abel,  sternly,  "  you  are  a  strange  girl  ! 
Can't  you  understand  me  ?  Haven't  I  told  you  that  you 
could  always  have  a  home  here  ?  And  now  what  is  this 
absurd  notion  about  getting  your  living  ?  " 

"Don't  be  angry.  You  will  do  very  well  without 
me.  You  won't  miss  me,  after  a  few  days.  I  go  to 
morrow." 

Abel  looked  at  her  a  minute,  with  fixed  teeth.  Her 
subdued,  calm,  independent  way  exasperated  him. 

"  You  are  a  stubborn,  ungrateful  girl !  " 

"  I  hope  not,"  she  murmured. 

"To  leave  us  at  this  time  !  "  he  exclaimed;  though  he 
did  not  like  to  own  that  he  needed  her  to  receive  and 
attend  his  bride.  "I  can't  understand  such  perverse- 
ness  I " 

Cut  to  the  heart,  Eliza  did  not  answer,  and  he  stalked 
away. 

What  gave  edge  to  his  reproof  was  the  consciousness 
that  she  was  acting  unreasonably.  Why  not  stay  till  the 
wedding,  and  welcome  the  beautiful  Faustina,  like  a 
sensible  girl  ?  Simply  because  she  could  not.  It  was 
not  jealousy,  but  something  far  deeper  than  jealousy 
that  set  her  soul  against  this  marriage.  The  entire 
instinct  of  the  woman  rose  up  and  prophesied  the  un- 
suitableness  of  Abel's  chosen  bride.  Not  solely  for 
her  own  sake,  but  for  Abel's  also,  and  equally  for 
his  mother's,  she  must  regard  the  wedding-day  as  an  evil 
2* 


1 8  Neighbors'  Wives. 

one  to  them  all;  and  to  join  in  the  festivities  of  that  oc 
casion,  to  mask  her  misery  with  smiles,  to  kiss  and  con 
gratulate  and  witness  the  joy  over  an  event  which  was 
worse  than  death  to  her,  would  have  been  too  terrible  a 
mockery.  And  so,  even  at  the  risk  of  seeming  ungrate 
ful  and  perverse,  she  must  depart  before  the  bride 
came. 

Did  you  ever  leave  a  place  that  had  been  all  that 
home  could  be  to  you,  and  go  forth  shivering  into  the 
dark  future  ?  Some  dreary  November  afternoon,  you 
take  down  the  pictures  from  the  walls  which  you  may 
never  see  again;  empty  the  familiar  drawers  and  shelves 
which  you  will  use  no  more,  but  which  somebody  else 
to  whom  you  give  place  will  cheerfully  occupy  after 
you;  pull  out  the  wretched  trunk  from  its  hiding-place, 
and  commence  packing.  Here  are  old  letters  to  be  de 
stroyed.  Here  are  keepsakes  you  hardly  know  whether 
to  take  with  you  or  return,  Ophelia-like,  to  the  giver 
who  has  "  proved  unkind,"  they  are  still  so  precious  to 
you,  while  they  make  your  heart  so  ache  and  sicken. 
For  relief  you  turn  away  and  look  out  upon  the  bleak 
sky  of  November.  Small  comfort  you  derive  from  the 
drifts  of  gray  clouds  that  lie  like  sandbars  in  the  blue, 
cold  ocean  of  infinity,  type  of  the  sea  you  are  about  to 
sail.  It  is  insupportable  !  The  very  roots  of  your  being 
seem  torn  up  by  this  change.  How- golden  are  the  days 
that  are  no  more  !  How  like  iron  the  grim  gates  of  the 
morrow  !  Where  will  these  miserable  trifles  you  are 
packing  up  be  next  unpacked  ?  Upon  the  walls  of  what 


The  Adopted  Sister.  19 

lonely  room  will  you  hang  this  little  Madonna,  and  this 
print  of  the  Saviour?  Among  what  unsympathiz- 
ing  strangers  will  your  solitary,  toilsome  lot  be  cast  ? 
There  is  One  who  knows ;  and  what  is  best  for  you,  he 
knows  far  better  than  you. 


2O  Neighbors'  Wives. 


n. 

MR.   TASSO   SMITH    AND   THE   APJOHNS. 

"  To  be  sure  ! "  said  John  Apjohn,  the  cooper,  enter 
ing  his  house  the  next  day,  and  putting  his  feet  on  the 
stove,  with  a  prodigious  sigh.  "  It  is  a  sad  world,  Pru- 
dy  !  "What  would  old  Abel  Dane  have  said,  I  wonder  ? 
I'm  glad  we've  no  children.  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure  !  " 

"  There  now  !  let  that  stove  alone  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Apjohn.  "  You  burn  out  more  wood  when  you  are  in 
the  house  five  minutes,  than  I  do  in  all  day." 

The  meagre,  shivering  little  man  crouched  over  the 
fire;  and,  glancing  timidly  up  at  the  glowing  face,  ample 
proportions,  and  huge  arms  of  that  warm-blooded  and 
superior  female,  his  wife,  who  stood  before  him,  bread- 
knife  in  hand,  to  see  her  command  enforced,  he  discreetly 
laid  back  in  the  wood-box  a  stick  he  had  taken  out. 

"  It's  a  cold  world,"  he  sighed. 

"  So  much  the  more  need  to  be  savin'  o'  fuel.  "We 
should  be  in  the  poor-house  'fore  spring  if  'twan't  for 
me."  And  Mrs.  Prudence  trod  heavy  and  strong  about 
her  work. 

As  she  disappeared  in  the  pantry,  the  cold-blooded 
cooper  took  occasion  to  peep  under  one  of  the  griddles ; 


Mr.  Tasso  Smith  and  the  Apjokns.       21 

and  he  had  his  hand  on  the  interdicted  stick  again,  when 
her  sudden  reappearance  with  some  bowls  and  spoons, 
caused  him  to  drop  the  griddle,  the  stick,  and  the  fol 
lowing  philosophical  remark : 

"  Changes  in  this  world  is  very  wonderful."  He 
rubbed  his  hands  over  the  stove,  and  proceeded:  "  Who 
knows  but  what  it  '11  be  our  turn  next  ?  I  knowed  old 
Mis'  Dane  when  she  seemed  as  fur  removed  from  trou 
ble  as  anybody.  Then  she  lost  her  husband.  Then  she 
was  afflicted  in  her  speech.  And  now  —  to  be  sure,  to 
be  sure  ! " 

"  What  now  ?  "  demanded  Prudence.  "  Has  anything 
re'ly  happened  ?  or  is  it  only  your  hypoes  ?  " 

"  My  hypoes  ?  As  if  I  didn't  have  reason  to  !  Hain't 
I  seen  'Lizy  take  the  stage  this  mornin,'  goin'  nobody 
knows  where,  to  'arn  a  livin'  amongst  strangers  ?  She's 
growed  jest  as  thin  as  a  stave  lately,  and  she  looked  like 
death  when  I  put  out  my  hand  to  say  good-by." 

"  Why  !  I  want  to  know  ! "  said  Prudence,  from  the 
pantry. '  "  Has  she  re'ly  gone  ?  Wai,  I  can't  blame  her, 
as  I  know  on,  for  wantin'  to  be  'arnin'  somethin',  —  it's 
nat'ral.  — I  hear  that  stove!  " 

The  cooper  softly  closed  the  griddle. 

"  I  see  old  Mis'  Dane  as  I  come  by  ;  thought  I'd  look 
in  ;  and  there  she  was,  a-cryin'.  I  tell  ye  it's  too 
bad  ! " 

"I  sh 'd 'most  thought  'Lizy 'd  staid  to  the  weddin'; 
most  gals  would,"  said  Mrs.  Apjohn,  bringing  a  pan  of 
milk  from  the  pantry.  "  But  probably  she  felt  the  ne- 


22        «  Neighbors'  Wives. 

cessity  of  doin'  somethin'  for  herself ;  for  Abel  can't 
afford  to  support  three  women  in  that  house,  massy 
knows  !  Fustiny  '11  have  to  put  them  perty  hands  o' 
her'n  into  dish-water.  For  my  part,  I  don't  think  she 's 
any  more  fit  to  be  Abel  Dane's  wife,  than  you  be  to  be 
president,  John  Apjohn." 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  said  John,  mournfully  ac 
knowledging  the  force  of  the  comparison.  "  Or  than 
you  be,"  he  added,  "  to  be  one  of  them  circus-ridin'  wo 
men."  And  at  the  quaint  conceit  of  those  immense 
feminine  proportions,  decked  out  in  gauze  and  tinsel, 
balanced  upon  one  foot  on  a  galloping  saddle,  or  taking  a 
flying  leap  through  a  hoop,  the  solemn  face  of  the  man 
puckered  into  a  dull,  feeble  smile.  "  To  be  sure  !  "  he 
cackled. 

"•  Wai,  come  to  dinner,"  said  Prudence,  cutting  the 
bread  against  her  bosom. 

"  Ain't  we  goin'  to  have  nothin'  but  bread  and 
milk  ?  "  said  John,  imploringly. 

"  Bread  and  milk  is  good  enough.  I  couldn't  afford 
to  cook  anything  to-day.  Here's  some  o'  that  corned 
beef,  and  beautiful  apple-sas." 

"  Cold  day  like  this,  ought  to  have  somethin'  warmin'," 
the  cooper  mildly  remonstrated.  "  Cup  o'  tea,  —  bile 
an  egg;  some  sich  thing." 

"  Eggs  !  when  we  can  git  thirteen  cents  a  dozen  for 
em  !  "  exclaimed  Prudence. 

"  To  be  sure  !  "  And  Cooper  John  submissively  took 
his  seat  at  the  uninviting  board. 


Mr.  Tasso  Smith  and  the  A-pjohns.      23 

•'  Did  you  hit  the  table  then  ?  "  with  a  look  of  alarm. 

"No  I "  said  Prudence.  "  "Wasn't  it  you  ?  "  Another 
knock. 

"  There's  somebody  to  the  front  door,  Prudy  !  "  gasped 
the  little  man.  "  What  shall  we  do  ?  " 

"  Let  'em  in,  of  course;  they  ain't  robbers  this  time 
o'  day,"  and  she  tramped  ponderously  through  the  en 
try. 

It  was  not  robbers  the  cooper  feared,  but  some  dread 
messenger  of  fate.  He  was  one  of  those  timorous, 
doubting  souls,  to  whose  morbid  imagination  life  is 
ever  full  of  terror  and  difficulty;  and  even  so  trifling  an 
incident  as  a  knock  at  the  door  has  in  it  sometimes 
something  mysterious  and  awful.  Though  the  most 
harmless  being  in  the  world,  he  often  thought,  and  often 
said  to  his  wife,  when  a  stranger  rapped,  "  What  if  that 
should  be  the  sheriff  come  to  tell  me  I  am  arrested  for  a 
murder  or  a  forgery  !  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,  Prudy  !  " 

He  was  slightly  relieved  on  this  occasion  to  hear  the 
soft,  simpering  voice,  and  to  see  the  soft,  simpering  face, 
of  a  flashily  dressed  young  fellow,  with  greased  hair,  a 
tender  moustache,  a  thick,  unwholesome  complexion, 
pimples,  and  a  very  extensive  breast-pin. 

"Tasso  Smith,"  said  Prudence,  as  with  a  curious, 
amused,  half-contemptuous  lifting  of  her  brow-wrinkles, 
she  ushered  the  grimacing  phenomenon  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Possible  !  Tasso  !  Mr.  Smith  !  "  confusedly  cried 
the  cooper,  springing  to  his  feet,  upsetting  his  chair  be 
hind  him,  and  spilling  the  milk  from  the  pan  with  the 


24  Neighbors'  Wives. 

jostle  he  gave  the  table.  "  I  shouldn't  have  knowed 
ye,  you've  altered  so  !  " 

The  young  man  looked  conscious  of  having  altered 
very  much  to  his  own  satisfaction;  and  condescendingly 
gave  the  cooper  two  fingers. 

"  Seddown,  seddown,"  said  John,  righting  his  chair, 
and  placing  it  for  the  visitor.  "  Don't  it  beat  all,  Pru- 
dy  I  —  Where  did  you  come  from,  Tasso  —  Mr.  Smith  ?  " 
for  he  thought  he  ought  to  mister  such  a  smart  young 
gentleman,  though  he  had  known  him  from  his  baby 
hood. 

"  From  the  city,"  grimaced  Tasso. 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure  !  "  repeated  the  cooper  ;  and 
regarded  him  wonderingly. 

"  Been  makin'  money,  I  guess,  hain't  ye,  Tasso  ?  " 
said  practical  Mrs.  Apjohn. 

She  stood  with  a  shrewd  sceptical  smile,  amusedly 
perusing  him  ;  while  before  her  sat  Tasso,  perfumed, 
pomatumed,  twirling  his  rattan,  delightfully  aware  that 
he  was  a  cynosure. 

"  Managed  to  live."  He  nodded  significantly  at  Pru 
dence.  "  City  's  good  place  for  enterpris'n'  young  men." 
He  nodded  at  the  cooper.  "  Thought  I'd  come  out  'n' 
see  what  I  could  do  for  the  ol'  folks."  Crossing  his 
legs,  he  thrust  his  rattan  into  a  button-hole  of  his  blue 
brass-buttoned  coat,  hung  his  hat  on  the  toe  of  his 
tight-fitting  patent-leather  boot,  and  pompously  pro 
duced  his  pocket-book.  "  I've  called  to  pay  —  to  re 
munerate  —  you  for  them  barrels  pa  had  of  you  some 


Mr.  Tasso  Smith  and  the  Af Johns.       25 

time  ago.  Can  you  change  a  fifty-dollar  bill  ?  "  Which 
stunning  proposition  he  uttered  as  if  it  was  one  of  the 
commonplaces  of  his  life. 

Cooper  John  sat  right  down  and  stared.  Tasso 
smoothed  his  moustache,  and  smiled.  Mrs.  Apjohn  was 
so  well  pleased  at  the  prospect  of  the  payment  of  a  debt 
she  had  long  despaired  of,  that  she  began  to  regard  the 
cynosure  with  more  favorable  eyes. 

"  I  declare,  Tasso,  I  never  expected  you  would  turn 
out  so  well.  Ke'ly  payin'  your  pa's  debts,  be  you  ?  I 
remember  when  you  used  to  be  around,  the  dirtiest,  rag- 
gedest  boy  't  ever  I  see  !  "  She  meant  this  for  praise; 
but  it  was  gall  to  Mr.  Smith.  "  And  now  you're  payin' 
your  pa's  debts  !  Think  o'  that,  John  Apjohn  !  "  — in  a 
tone  which  conveyed  a  triumphant  reproof  to  the  soul 
of  the  said  J.  A.  ;  for  the  worthy  woman  had  this  way 
of  convicting  her  consort  of  his  short-comings,  by  citing 
to  him  illustrious  examples  of  human  conduct.  "  Think 
of  that,  John  Apjohn  !  "  always  meant  "  Now,  why 
don't  you  go  and  be  a  man  like  the  rest  of  'em  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure  ! "  murmured  the  cooper, 
feeling  very  much  disparaged,  and  turning  an  awe 
struck  glance  upon  the  shining  paragon  who  was  paying 
"  his  pa's  debts."  "  Only  ten  and  six,  I  believe,  the  ac 
count  is." 

"  With  interest,  it's  rnore'n  two  dollars  by  this  time." 
struck  in  his  wife's  strong  treble. 

"  Oh,  never  mind  interest,  Prudy,"  said  the  weak, 
quavering  tenor. 


26  Neighbors'    Wives. 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  insisted  Prudence.  "  Call  it  two  dol 
lars,  anyhow." 

"  Sorry  I  hain't  got  no  smaller  bills,"  said  Tasso, 
glancing  over  a  handful  of  bank-notes.  "  But  you  can 
prob'ly  break  a  fifty." 

John  and  Prudence  looked  at  each  other.  Then  both 
looked  at  the  visitor. 

"Why,  if  you  can't  do  no  better,"  said  Prudence, 
hesitatingly,  "  I  don'o'  —  mabby  I  can  change  it." 

It  was  Tasso's  turn  to  be  astonished,  and  he  looked, 
for  a  moment,  very  much  as  if  he  had  no  large  note  to 
change.  He  reddened  with  embarrassment,  and  fum 
bled  his  money,  and  presently  began  muttering,  as  he 
turned  each  bill,  — 

"  Hunderd,  hunderd,  hunderd,  —  I  declare  !  don't 
b'lieve  got  a  fifty  —  hunderd,  hunderd,  —  thought  I  had 
—  remember,  now,  paying  it  out.  Can  you  break  a 
0.  ?  "  And  he  turned  on  the  cooper  a  foolish  smile. 

John  appealed  to  Prudence,  and  Prudence  nodded 
consent.  The  C.  was  not  such  cold  water  to  her  as 
Tasso  had  hoped. 

"  Yes,  I  can  break  a  (7.  /  "  she  answered,  with  just 
perceptible  disdain.  "Though  you  thought  it  would 
break  me,  I  guess." 

Tasso's  smile  faded  ;  and  the  effort  he  made  to  appear 
business-like  and  at  ease,  sweating  over  his  bills  and 
wiping  his  red,  pimply  face,  was  odd  to  see.  Prudence 
did  not  give  him  time  to  raise  the  value  of  his  notes  to 
five  hundred  ;  but,  taking  a  key  from  the  clock-case, 


Mr.  Tasso  Smith  and  the  Af Johns.      27 

proceeded  to  an  adjoining  room,  followed  by  the  cooper. 
They  left  the  door  unlatched,  and  Tasso  could  hear  busy 
whisperings  behind  it.  He  got  up,  peeped  through  the 
crack,  and  saw  the  thrifty  couple  on  their  knees  by  an 
open  chest,  counting  money.  In  a  little  while  they  came 
out,  and  found  their  guest  respectably  seated,  twirling 
his  rattan,  with  a  serious,  honest  face,  —  bank-notes  and 
pocket-book  having  disappeared. 

"  I'll  look  at  your  bill,  if  you  please,"  said  Prudence, 
clasping  a  handful  of  money. 

"  Oh,"  said  Tasso,  as  if  he  had  quite  forgotten  the 
subject,  "  le'  me  see  !  Oh,  yes  !  After  you  went  out,  I 
found  some  small  bills  in  my  vest-pocket.  Save  you 
the  trouble."  And,  fingering  the  said  vest-pocket,  he 
brought  to  light  a  little,  dirty,  rolled-up  rag  of  paper. 

"  '  He  put  in  his  thumb,  and  pulled  out  a  plum  ;  and 
what  a  brave  boy  was  I ! ' "  laughed  Prudence,  as  she 
scornfully  unrolled  the  rag.  "  Two  one-dollar  bills  ! 
Wai,  that's  what  I  call  comin'  down  a  little.  Great  deal 
of  talk  for  a  little  bit  of  cider." 

Tasso  felt  cheap.  His  game  of  brag,  at  which  he  had 
been  so  unexpectedly  beaten,  had  cost  him  more  pride 
and  money  than  he  could  afford.  He  winced  and  sim 
pered  and  switched  his  stick,  and  said,  — 

"  Might  gi'e  me  back  th'  change,  'f  you're  mind  to,  as 
pa  didn't  authorize  me  to  pay  no  interest." 

That  was  too  much  for  Prudence,  already  sufficiently 
provoked  ;  and  she  spoke  hasty  words,  which,  lodging 
like  evil  seed  in  the  breast  of  the  young  man  Tasso,  took 


28  Neighbors'  Wives. 

root  there,  and  grew,  and  in  due  season  brought  forth 
bitter  fruit  for  the  future  of  more  than  one  actor  in  our 
drama. 

"  Idee  o'  your  hagglin'  'bout  a  little  interest  money, 
arter  sech  a  swell  with  your  hunderd-dollar  bills  ! " 
("  Come,  come,  Prudy  !  "  said  her  husband,  deprecat- 
ingly.)  "I  don't  believe  you've  got  a  hunderd-dollar 
bill  in  the  world.  ISTo  Smith  of  your  breed  ever  had  !  " 
("  There,  there,  Prudy  !  "  said  the  conciliatory  John.) 
"  You'd  no  more  notion  o'  payin'  that  debt,  when  you 
come  into  this  house,  than  I  have  to  fly  ;  and  you 
wouldn't,  if  I  hadn't  ketched  ye  in  a  trap  ye  didn't  sus 
pect."  ("  Prudy,  Prudy  !  you're  sayin'  too  much  !  " 
parenthesized  the  pale  cooper.)  "I  ain't  sayin'  any 
thing  but  the  truth  ;  and  he  can  afford  to  hear  that, 
arter  all  the  trouble  he  has  put  me  to.  Here's  a  nine- 
pence  ;  I'll  divide  the  interest  with  ye,  and  say  no  more 
about  it." 

Tasso  pocketed  the  ninepence  and  the  affront,  and, 
white  with  rage,  yet  too  much  afraid  of  the  strong,  in 
dignant  woman  to  give  vent  to  it,  just  showed  his 
yellow  teeth,  with  a  sickly,  malicious  grin,  as  he  put  on 
his  hat,  and  went  strutting  under  difficulties  through 
the  entry. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  had  it  happen,  Prudy  !  "  began  the 
wretched  cooper. 

"  I  would  !  "  said  Prudence,  with  gleaming  scorn  and 
triumph.  "  Sicli  a  heap  of  pretension  !  with  that  little 
bit  of  a  cane,  and  them  nasty  soaplocks,  and  all  that 


Mr.  Tasso  Smith  and  the  Apjokns.      29 

big  show  of  one-dollar  bills  !  I  like  to  come  up  with 
sich  people  ! "  And  she  grimly  counted  her  money  ; 
while  Tasso,  who  had  heard  every  word  she  said,  as 
he  listened  at  the  door,  let  himself  out,  and  sneaked 

away. 

3* 


30  Neighbors'  Wives. 


III. 

ABSENCE. 

IT  takes  a  woman  to  read  a  woman.  A  man,  espe 
cially  a  lover,  is  apt  to  confide  too  much  in  the  title-page, 
namely,  the  face  ;  although,  like  other  title-pages,  this 
is  often  so  false  that  its  smiling  promise  affords  scarce  a 
hint,  to  the  unsophisticated,  of  the  actual  contents  of  the 
volume. 

The  book  of  beauty  which  Abel  Dane  had  chosen, 
which  he  took  out  of  the  modest  covers  of  maidenhood, 
and  bound  in  bridal  gilt  and  velvet,  and  placed  in  the 
closet  of  his  affections,  to  be  his  inseparable  companion 
and  book  of  life, —  was  now  to  be  tested.  How  soon 
the  gilt  began  to  tarnish,  the  sumptuous  velvet  to  fade, 
the  contents  to  belie  the  title,  and  Abel  to  learn  how 
much  better  Eliza  had  discerned  their  true  character  at 
a  glance,  than  he  with  all  his  admiring  attention,  let 
us  not  too  closely  inquire. 

There  were  at  least  two  individuals  that  mourned 
Eliza's  departure,  and  could  not  be  comforted  by  Faus 
tina's  coming.  One  was  old  Mrs.  Dane  ;  she  felt  that 
one  of  her  roots  of  life  had  been  severed,  when  her 
adopted  daughter  went,  and  that  she  was  too  old  a 


Absence.  31 

tree  to  put  forth  vigorous  young  fibres  to  supply  its 
place. 

"Wai,  old  friend,  how  do  ye  git  along?  to  be  sure!" 
said  Cooper  John,  looking  in  upon  her  one  day. 

"  Narrowing  at  the  heel,"  smiled  Mrs.  Dane  ;  then 
laughed  at  herself,  for  she  had  meant  to  say,  "  Pretty 
well,  I  thank  you,  John."  "  That's  true,  though,  I  sup 
pose.  My  stocking  of  life  is  fast  knitting  up,  and  I  shall 
soon  be  at  the  toe." 

"  To  be  sure,  yes !  "  the  cooper  snuffled,  and  produced 
his  red  silk  handkerchief.  "  We  shall  all  go  soon  or 
late.  Dreadful  changes.  Heard  from  'Lizy  ?  " 

"  I  had  a  wood-box  from  her  —  dear  me  !  you  know 
what  I  mean." 

"  To  be  sure,  a  letter." 

"  She  writes  she's  gone  to  work  in  the  mills,  and  ap 
pears  to  be  contented ;  but,  oh,  John  !  " 

She  wept ;  and  John  wept  with  her ;  and  Turk,  the 
house-dog,  laid  his  great,  shaggy  head  between  his 
paws,  and  winked  sympathetically;  for  Turk  was  the 
other  mourner  aforesaid:  a  faithful,  grim  old  dog,  that 
would  sometimes  lie  down  before  Eliza's  vacant  chair, 
and  growl  at  any  one  who  approached  it ;  or,  like  the 
old  man  in  the  story,  go  about 

"  Wandering  as  in  quest  of  something, 

Something  he  could  not  find, — he  knew  not  what;"  — 

then  suddenly  take  it  into  his  head  to  bounce  up  stairs, 
and  bark  furiously  at  her  door,  as  if  he  had  at  last  dis- 


32  Neighbors'  Wives. 

covered  the  chest  in  which  his  Ginevra  was  concealed. 
"What  was  singular,  not  all  Faustina's  attentions,  —  feed 
ing  him  and  patting  him  with  her  fair  hand,  —  could 
flatter  him  into  forgetting  his  old  mistress  and  accepting 
a  new  one. 

Mrs.  Dane  did  not  fail  to  answer  Eliza's  letter  ;  and 
others  also  wrote  to  her  ;  for  she  had  left  behind  her 
many  friends  in  the  village.  And  now,  in  her  lonely 
retreat,  she  heard  again  and  again  how  handsome  Faus 
tina  was,  and  how  much  she  was  admired,  and  how 
happy  Abel  seemed,  and  what  new  furniture  he  had 
purchased,  and  what  a  gay  winter  they  were  having, 
and  how  almost  everybody  except  the  joyous  wedded 
pair  often  inquired  for  her,  and  sent  love.  And  do  you 
suppose  that,  as  Eliza  pondered  these  things  all  day,  and 
day  after  day,  to  the  tune  of  the  whirling  spindles,  her 
sharp  thoughts  did  not  sometimes  whirl  too,  and  pierce 
into  her  soul  ? 

So  the  winter  passed,  and  the  summer  followed  ;  and 
she  learned  that  now  Abel  had  especial  reason  to  be 
tender  of  his  bride  ;  that  he  had  bought  a  new  carriage 
to  drive  her  out  in  ;  that,  in  his  devotion,  he  spared  no 
time  or  trouble  or  expense,  if  a  whim  of  hers  was  to  be 
gratified.  Then  came  the  intelligence  which  she  had 
been  long  prepared  to  hear,  but  which,  when  at  last  she 
heard  it,  smote  her  with  faintness  of  heart.  Abel,  far 
from  her,  forgetting  her  entirely,  no  doubt,  in  his  sep 
arate  delight,  was  the  father  of  a  beautiful  boy. 

How  the   child  thrived,  and  grew  to  look  like  his 


Absence.  33 

mother  ;  how  Faustina  once  more  flashed  into  society, 
which  she  dazzled  by  her  beauty  and  jewels  and  dresses  ; 
how  envious  ones  reported  that  she  was  running  Abel 
into  debt  by  her  extravagance  ;  how  careworn  he  was 
really  beginning  to  look  ;  all  this,  with  many  dark  hints 
of  things  going  wrong  at  home,  Eliza  heard  during  the 
two  years  that  followed.  But  never,  directly  or  indi 
rectly,  did  she  get  one  word  from  Abel.  Others  invited 
her  to  return  to  the  village  ;  he  never  invited  her.  His 
resentment  seemed  eternal.  And  though,  often  and  long 
after,  when  her  life  had  grown  less  lonely,  her  thoughts 
would  fly  back  to  her  old  home,  and  her  heart,  despite 
of  her,  would  yearn  to  follow,  she  saw  ever  the  iron 
gates,  through  which  she  had  passed,  closed  and  barred 
behind  her. 

But  at  length,  one  September  evening,  as  she  went 
home  from  her  work,  at  the  door  of  her  boarding-house 
a  letter  was  given  her. 

The  well-known  hand-writing  made  her  tremble  so 
that  she  could  scarcely  break  the  seal.  It  was  Abel's 
hand,  —  changed,  agitated,  hurried,  —  but  still  she  knew 
it  well. 

This  was  the  letter :  — 

"  Come  to  me,  Eliza.  Do  not  remember  my  unkind- 
ness.  Let  nothing  keep  you.  I  am  in  great  trouble. 
Come  at  once.  ABEL." 

Terror  and  dread  swept  over  her.     She  did  not  stop 


34  Neighbors'  Wives. 

to  remember  or  to  forgive.  But  love,  like  a  strong 
power,  seized  upon  her,  gave  her  strength,  and  guided 
her  hands,  and  sent  her,  the  next  day,  whirling  away 
upon  the  train  that  bore  her  back  to  Abel  and  her  home. 


Mrs.  A-pjohrfs  Adventure.  35 


IV. 

MRS.  APJOHN'S  ADVENTURE. 

AND  now,  what  stress  of  ill-fortune  had  hurried  Abel 
into  sending  this  alarming  missive  ?  To  answer  which 
question,  we  must  go  back  to  Tasso  Smith  and  the  Ap- 
johns,  and  to  one  bright,  particular  Sunday  in  this  history. 

A  still,  September  day,  with  the  peculiar  sentiment 
of  the  Sabbath  breathing  in  the  air,  yellowing  in  the 
sunshine,  brooding  over  field  and  orchard  almost  like  a 
conscious  presence,  and  filling  all  the  silent  rooms  of  the 
house  with  its  cool  hush.  The  bells  have  ceased  ring 
ing  ;  the  choirs  have  ceased  singing  ;  and  the  naughty 
boys,  sitting  in  the  wagons  under  the  meeting-house 
sheds,  can  hear  far  off  the  monotonous  tones  of  the 
minister's  discourse. 

Abel  Dane  sits  by  his  brilliant  and  showily-dressed 
wife  in  their  smart  pew.  His  mother  has  also,  by  a 
strong  resolution  and  effort,  got  to  church  this  afternoon, 
thinking  it  the  last  Sunday  of  the  season,  and  perhaps  the 
last  Sunday  of  her  life  that  she  shall  be  able  to  hear  the 
good  old  man  preach.  On  one  side  of  this  group  you 
may  see  the  young  man,  Tasso  Smith,  occasionally  strok 
ing  his  moustache,  with  a  display  of  finger-rings,  and 


36  Neighbors    Wives. 

casting  significant  glances  at  Faustina  ;  while,  on  the 
other,  his  bald  pate  shining  in  the  light,  sits  solemn  John 
Apjohn,  choking  in  black  cravat,  rolling  up  his  large 
eyes  at  the  preacher,  and  now  and  then  drawing  down 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  with  a  dismal  sigh. 

Prudence  is  not  present.  In  the  morning  she  can 
usually  endure  a  sermon  of  reasonable  length  ;  but  in 
the  afternoon  it  is  impossible  for  her  to  avoid  the  sin 
of  drowsiness.  "  The  more  flesh,  the  more  frailty." 
And  it  is  so  mortifying  to  the  sensitive  John  to  have 
to  keep  waking  her  up,  in  order  to  prevent  her  nod 
ding  and  snoring,  that  she  has  wisely  resolved  to  spend 
her  Sunday  afternoons  at  home. 

She  reads  a  little,  sleeps  a  good  deal,  opens  the  till 
of  the  chest  to  see  that  her  money  is  safe,  and  perhaps 
counts  it  over,  then  thinks  of  preparing  supper.  With 
a  basket  on  her  arm,  she  visits  the  garden  for  vegetables. 
She  is  sorry  the  tomatoes  are  poor  and  puny.  She  is 
fond  of  tomatoes,  and  involuntarily  looks  over  the  fence 
into  Abel  Dane's  garden,  where  there  are  bushels  of 
nice,  ripe  ones.  Before  Eliza  went  and  Faustina  came, 
the  Danes  used  to  give  her  all  the  vegetables  she  wanted ; 
for  they  always  had  a  large  garden  generously  culti 
vated,  while  she  had  but  a  poor  little  strip  of  ground, 
with  only  a  shiftless  husband  to  look  after  it. 

"  Think  of  that,  John  Apjohn  !  "  she  says  to  herself. 
"  If  I  only  had  a  husband  that  was  wuth  a  cent !  "  — 
doubtless  forgetting  that  it  is  not  alone  John's  ineffi 
ciency,  but  her  own  tight  hold  of  the  purse-strings,  which 


Mrs.  Af Johns  Adventure.  37 

prevents  his  enriching  the  soil  in  a  manner  to  insure 
good  crops.  "  Now,  old  Mis'  Dane,  and  Abel,  too,  for 
that  matter,  had  jest  as  lives  we'd  have  some  of  them 
tomatuses  as  not.  It's  a  pity  to  see  'em  wasted.  They 
look  to  me  to  be  a-rottin'  on  the  ground.  Anyway, 
frost'll  come  and  finish  'em  'fore  their  folks  can  ever  use 
'em  up.  I've  a  good  notion  jest  to  step  over  and  pick  a 
few.  They  never'd  know  it ;  and  John'll  think  they 
come  ofF'm  our  own  vines." 

Up  and  down  and  all  around  she  looks,  and  sees  no 
eye  beholding  her. 

"They've  all  gone  to  meetin'  'cept  the  baby,  and  I 
see  Melissy  take  him  and  carry  him  over  to  her  folks's. 
House  is  all  shet  up,  I  know.  Only  a  few  tomatuses. 
What's  the  harm,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  I'm  sure  I'd 
ruther  any  one  would  have  my  tomatuses  than  leave  'em 
to  rot  on  the  ground.  I  will  jest  step  over  and  take  two 
or  three." 

"  Stepping  over  "  was  a  rather  light  and  airy  way  of 
expressing  it.  Did  you  ever  see  a  fat  woman  climb  a 
fence,  and  didn't  laugh  ?  Cautiously  feeling  the  boards 
till  she  finds  one  she  has  confidence  in  ;  hugging  the 
post  affectionately  ;  tangling  her  knees  in  her  skirts  ; 
putting  her  elbows  over  the  topmost  board,  and  finally 
getting  one  foot  over  ;  then  turning  around,  as  she 
brings  up  the  other  foot ;  stopping  a  minute  to  arrange 
skirts,  then  getting  down  backwards,  very  much  as  she 
got  up,  —  all  this  is  in  the  programme.  Prudence  is 
not  nearly  so  spry  as  a  eat  ;  but,  give  her  time,  and  she 
4 


38  Neighbors'  Wives. 

is  good  for  any  common  board-fence,  provided  nobody  is 
looking.  She  is  particularly  anxious,  on  this  occasion, 
to  assure  herself  that  nobody  is  looking.  And  so  the 
feat  is  accomplished,  and  she  treads  carefully  among 
the  tomatoes. 

Although  purposing  to  pick  only  a  few,  they  are  so 
large  and  so  plenty  that  she  fills  her  basket  almost  be 
fore  she  knows  it.  Then,  it  is  "  sich  a  pity  to  see  'em 
wasted,"  she  thinks  she  will  put  two  or  three  in  her 
apron.  For  this  is  the  subtlety  of  sin ;  that  a  thousand 
excuses  suggest  themselves  for  taking  just  a  little  of  the 
forbidden  fruit ;  then  to  add  a  little  more  to  that  little 
cannot  really  make  much  difference  in  the  offence  ;  and 
so  you  progress  by  degrees  in  the  indulgence,  till  you 
have  not  only  filled  your  basket,  but  your  apron  also. 

Stooping,  with  broad  back  to  the  golden  sunshine  and 
blue  Sabbath  sky;  holding  up  her  apron  with  one  hand, 
and  loading  it  with  the  other,  she  is  peering  among  the 
vines,  when  suddenly  she  is  startled  by  a  harsh  growl. 
In  great  fright  she  looks  up  and  sees  Turk  bristling  be 
fore  her. 

"  Massy  sakes  !  why,  Turk  !  don't  you  know  me  ?  " 

"  Gur-r-r-r  !  "  answers  Turk. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  gasps  Prudence.  "  You  never  acted  so 
before,  Turk !  You  never  barked  at  me  !  Come,  doggy  I 
poor  fellow  !  poor  fellow  !  " 

She  reaches  out  her  hand  coaxingly,  and  the  brute 
snaps  at  it.  Then  the  soul  of  the  woman  grows  sick 
within  her,  and  her  knees  shake.  Eight  before  her 


Mrs.  Apjohn's  Adventure.  39 

stands  the  red-eyed,  snarling  monster,— between  her  and 
the  fence,  between  her  and  her  basket ;  and  what  shall 
she  do  ? 

"  Turk,  it's  me,  Turk  !  your  old  friend,  doggy  !  "  she 
tells  him. 

"  Can't  help  it !  "  plainly  answers  doggy,  deep  in  his 
thundering  throat. 

But  he  won't  dare  to  bite  her,  she  thinks.  And,  if  she 
dies  for  it,  she  must  get  out  of  the  garden  before  the  folks 
come  from  meeting.  She  makes  a  charge  at  her  basket. 
Turk  meets  her  with  a  terrific  leap  and  snarl,  and  seizes 
her  apron  with  his  teeth.  Involuntarily  screaming,  she 
retreats.  She  clings  to  the  apron  with  her  hands,  he 
with  his  jaw^s.  She  pulls  one  way,  he  tugs  the  other. 
The  string  breaks.  Prudence  loses  her  hold  of  the 
apron,  and  falls  in  the  entangling  tomato-vines.  Turk 
goes  back  upon  his  haunches,  with  the  captured  apron 
in  his  teeth. 

"  I  never,  never  !  Oh,  dear,  dear  !  What  shall  I  do  ? 
what  shall  I  do  ? "  splutters  Prudence,  as  she  disen 
gages  her  feet  from  the  vines,  feels  the  smashed  tomatoes 
under  her,  gets  up,  and  still  sees  Turk,  with  her  apron 
and  basket,  between  her  and  the  fence.  And  now  she 
thinks  she  hears  the  carriages  coming  from  meeting. 

The  impulse  is  to  run.  And  leave  her  basket  and 
apron  in  possession  of  the  enemy  ?  3STo,  they  must  be 
brought  off  from  the  battle-field  at  all  hazards.  Pru 
dence  is  wild,  or  she  would  never  dare  advance  again  to 
the  contest.  Turk  waits  till  she  has  reached  the  apron- 


40  Neighbors'   Wives. 

string,  and  begun  to  pull  it  gently,  when,  once  more 
considering  it  time  to  assume  the  offensive,  he  gives  a 
bound,  rescues  the  rag,  hurls  her  backwards  to  the 
ground,  and  seats  himself  beside  her,  with  his  fore 
paws  on  her  dress,  and  his  red  tongue,  white  teeth,  hot 
breath,  and  ferocious  eyes  close  to  her  face.  She  does 
not  scream  ;  she  does  not  attempt  to  rise  ;  for  when  she 
stirs,  his  growl  reverberates  in  her  ear,  and  she  feels  his 
moist  muzzle  wetting  her  throat. 

A  sad  predicament  for  a  respectable  woman,  isn't  it  ? 
Oh,  what  would  she  give  if  she  had  only  stayed  in  her 
own  garden,  and  never  cast  covetous  eyes  at  her  neigh 
bor's  ?  If  she  only  had  her  apron  and  basket  safe  and 
empty  the  other  side  of  the  fence,  would  she  ever,  ever 
do  such  a  thing  again  ?  Never,  never  ! 

"  Turk,  Turk,  good  doggy  !  "  she  pleads,  in  her  des 
peration,  "  do  let  me  go  !  Only  this  time,  Turk  !  I 
never  will  agin  !  Please  do,  that's  a  nice  dog,  now  !  " 
But  the  inexorable  Turk  glares  over  her,  looking  greed 
ily  up  the  road,  and  listening,  not  to  her  entreaties,  but 
to  the  sound  of  the  approaching  wheels.  And  there  we 
may  as  well  leave  her,  for  the  present,  to  her  interesting 
reflections. 


Cooler  John  to  the  Rescue,  41 


V. 


COOPER  JOHN  TO  THE  RESCUE. 

THE  meetings  are  indeed  out;  the  wagons  have  begun 
to  go  by,  and  now  the  feet  of  scattered  pedestrians  clatter 
along  the  wooden  village  sidewalks.  A  happy  throng  ! 
they  who  ride  and  they  who  walk;  those  in  fine  silks 
and  broadcloth,  and  those  in  cheap  prints  and  homespun ; 
verily  all  are  blessed  whom  the  sun  shines  upon  this 
day,  except  one.  If  you  are  not  lying  on  your  back 
among  your  neighbor's  vines,  with  your  neighbor's 
watch-dog  growling  at  your  throat,  what  more  felicity 
can  you  desire  ? 

There  goes,  with  the  rest,  the  sweet  youth,  Tasso 
Smith,  elegantly  strutting.  If  he  but  knew  !  Behind 
him  —  curious  contrast !  —  walks  the  meek  John  Ap- 
john,  choking  in  his  Sunday  cravat,  winking  over  it, 
ever  and  anon,  with  his  melancholy  eyes,  and  screwing 
his  mouth  into  a  serious  one-sided  twist,  as  he  goes  pon 
dering  awful  things.  He  passes  within  a  stone's  throw 
of  the  crushed  tomatoes,  whose  juice  is  oozing  out  from 
under  Mrs.  Apjohn's  unhappy  shoulder-blades,  but  sees 
not  the  pleasing  sight  for  the  intervening  cabbages. 
4* 


42  Neighbors'  Wives. 

And  now  Prudence,  where  she  lies,  can  hear  the  famil 
iar  sound  of  her  own  gate  slammed.  John  has  got  home. 

"  To  be  sure,  Prudy  !  "  begins  the  cooper,  as  he  enters 
the  house,  carefully  laying  off  his  black  hat  the  first 
thing,  and  giving  it  a  final  polish  with  his  red  silk  before 
putting  it  away  for  the  week.  "  Them  was  two  dreadful 
good  sermons  to-day.  Desperate  smart  man,  old  Mr. 
Hard  well,  —  as  feeling  a  preacher  as  ever  I  sot  under. 
You  should  have  heard  him  dwell  upon  the  vanities  of 
this  world  this  arternoon  !  All  our  pride  and  selfishness, 
and  what  we  call  the  good  things  of  life,  where'll  they 
all  be  in  a  few  years  ?  "  he  said.  "  You  ought  to  have 
heard  him,  Prudy;  to  be  sure  !  to  be  sure  !  " 

Indeed,  Prudy  would  give  anything  just  now  if  she 
had  heard  him;  even  if  she  were  but  present  to  hear  her 
worthy  John  !  How  free-hearted  and  beatified  she 
would  feel  if  she  were  at  this  moment  taking  off  her  silk 
dress  after  church,  instead  of  spoiling  her  calico  gown 
down  there  among  the  tomatoes  ! 

"  Why,  where  be  you,  Prudy  ?  "  says  John,  entering 
the  bedroom;  for  he  had  surely  thought  she  was  there, 
not  finding  her  in  the  kitchen.  Still  not  much  alarmed, 
he  takes  off  his  Sunday  coat  and  cravat  ;  and  having 
laid  the  one  away  in  a  drawer,  and  hung  the  other  up  in 
the  closet,  he  feels  more  comfortable.  "Prudy,"  he 
calls,  "  are  you  there  ?  "  putting  his  polished  little  head 
up  the  unanswering  stair-way. 

No  Prudence  in  the  house,  no  Prudence  in  the  gar 
den,  where  her  husband  looks  next.  What  can  it  all 


Cooler  John  to  the  Rescue.  43 

mean  ?  It  is  one  of  those  little  mysteries  that  appall  the 
imaginative  John.  He  remembers  that  the  back-door  of 
the  house  was  open  when  he  came  in.  The  stove  is 
filled  with  fuel  just  ready  to  kindle.  A  fresh  pail  of 
water  has  been  drawn.  The  cloth  is  on  the  table.  But 
where  is  Mrs.  Apjohn  ?  Pale,  at  the  wood-pile,  the 
cooper  stands  and  startles  the  Sabbath  stillness  by  feebly 
trilling  her  name. 

"  Pru-d-u-n-ce  !  " 

"  D-u-n-ce  !  "  echoes  Abel  Dane's  shop,  as  if  it  were 
laughing  at  him. 

But  what  is  that  ?  Another  voice  !  a  faint,  far-off, 
stifled  scream. 

"  John  !  John  !  help  !  " 

"  Where  be  ye  ?  "  cries  the  terrified  John. 

"  Here  !  "  says  the  voice. 

It  sounds  as  if  it  were  in  the  well.  Prudence  in  the 
well  1  In  an  instant  the  cooper's  vivid  fancy  pictures 
that  excellent  and  large-sized  woman  fallen,  head-fore 
most  and  heels  upward,  into  the  deep  and  narrow 
cavity.  How  can  she  ever  be  got  out  ?  A  rope  tied 
round  her  heels  and  several  men  strenuously  hoisting,  is 
the  image  which  flashes  through  his  brain.  He  is  at  the 
curb  in  a  second;  peering  fearfully  in,  with  his  eyes 
shaded  by  his  hands;  but  making  no  discovery  there,  ex 
cept  the  silhouette  of  himself  projected  black  upon  the 
glimmering  reflection  of  the  sky  in  the  placid  water. 

"  John  !  come  quick  !  "  calls  the  muffled  voice  again. 

On  the  roof  of  the  house  this  time  !    How  came  Pru- 


44  Neighbors'  Wives. 

dence  on  the  roof  of  the  house  ?  To  run  over  to  Abel 
Dane's  and  borrow  a  long  carpenter's  ladder  is  John's 
first  thought.  To  get  a  good  view  of  the  roof,  his  next. 
To  this  end  he  hastens  down  into  the  garden,  and  is 
standing  on  tiptoe  to  discover  Prudence  on  the  ridge 
pole,  when  once  more  calls  the  voice,  this  time  unmistak 
ably  benind  him ,  — 

"  Where  be  ye  ?  and  what's  the  matter  ?  "  gasps  the 
cooper,  gazing  all  around  in  vain. 

"  Here  I  am,  and  you'll  see  what's  the  matter.  Don't 
make  no  noise,  but  come  as  quick  as  you  can,  and  git 
away  this  horrid  dog  1  " 

Then  John  Apjohn,  rushing  to  the  fence,  sees  the 
prostrate  woman,  and  sedentary  dog,  and  the  guilty  to 
matoes,  —  some  in  the  apron  and  basket,  and  some  on 
the  ground.  He  clings  to  the  fence,  bareheaded,  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  white  as  any  cheese-curd,  by  trembling  and 
ghastliness  quite  overcome,  and  uttering  not  a  word. 

"  Quick,  I  say  !  "  cries  Prudence  on  her  back.  "  Take 
off  this  dog,  and  I'll  tell  ye  all  about  it  by'm'by." 

Over  the  fence  tumbles  the  astonished  cooper.  But 
to  take  off  the  dog  is  not  so  easy  a  matter.  Turk  is 
averse  to  being  taken  off.  He  glares  and  growls  and 
snaps  at  the  little  man,  as  if  he  would  swallow  him. 

"  I  can't,  Prudy  !  "  falters  John,  retreating. 

"  Ketch  right  hold  of  him  !  "  commands  Prudence. 
"Choke  him!  pull  him  !" 

"  I  da'sn't !  "  articulates  John. 


Cooper  yohn  to  the  Rescue.  45 

"  If  I  had  a  man  for  a  husband  ! "  exclaimed  Pru 
dence.  "  Git  a  club  !  Kill  the  brute  !  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  to  be  sure  !  "  and  John  starts  to  find  a 
club.  There  is  a  pole  leaning  on  an  apple-tree  near  by. 
He  secures  it,  and  hurries  back  to  stir  up  Turk.  The 
combat  begins,  with  John  at  one  end  of  the  pole  and 
Turk  at  the  other.  Turk  seizes  his  end  with  his  teeth; 
John  holds  his  in  his  hands;  and  there  they  stand. 
Turk  growls  to  make  John  let  go ;  John  shooes  and  ste- 
boys  to  make  Turk  let  go. 

"  Pull  it  away  from  him  !  "  exclaims  Prudence. 

John  pulls  till  he  has  dragged  the  dog  half  across  the 
good  woman's  waist,  when,  as  it  would  seem,  the  saga 
cious  brute,  seeing  a  chance  for  a  fine  strategic  effect, 
suddenly  releases  his  grip,  and  leaves  the  pole  with  the 
cooper,  who  loses  his  balance,  staggers  backward  rap 
idly,  and  sits  down,  with  his  Sunday  trousers,  in  an 
over-ripe  muskmelon. 

"Now  take  the  pole,"  says  the  commander-in-chief, 
"  and  knock  him  on  the  head  with  it,  hard  !  " 

"  I  shall  hit  you  !  "  utters  John. 

"  Never  mind  me  !  "  says  the  resolute  Prudy. 

Up  goes  the  pole,  unsteadily  and  slow. 

"  Ready  ?  "  says  John. 

"Yes;  strike!" 

And  down  comes  the  heavy,  unwieldy  weapon.  Turk 
sees  it  descending  to  damage  him,  and  considers  it  hon 
orable,  under  the  circumstances,  to  dodge.  He  is  out 
of  the  way  before  the  radius  has  passed  through  one 


46  Neighbors'  Wives. 

half  the  arc ;  but  the  momentum  of  the  stroke  is  such 
that  it  is  impossible  for  the  cooper  to  stay  his  hold;  and 
the  blow  alights  upon  Mrs.  Apjohn's  stomach. 

"  Ugh  !  "  says  Mrs.  Apjohn. 

"  Now  I've  killed  ye  ! "  exclaims  John,  despairingly, 
throwing  away  the  weapon. 

"  Don't  ye  know  no  better'n  to  be  murderin'  me  'stid 
of  the  dog  ?  "  cries  Prudy. 

"I  didn't  mean  to!"  murmurs  the  wretched,  man. 
"  Broke  any  ribs,  think  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  for  my  ribs,  if  I  could  only  —  Oh,  dear  ! 
why  can't  ye  beat  off  this  dog  ?  Empty  out  them  to- 
matuses,  and  throw  the  basket  over  the  fence,  anyway. 
And  give  me  my  apron.  Quick  !  " 

But  Turk,  also,  has  something  to  say  about  that. 
Neither  apron  nor  basket  shall  John  touch;  they  are 
confiscated. 

"  How  come  the  tomatuses  in  the  basket  ?  in  your 
apron  ?  "  asks  the  cooper.  "  O  Prudy,  Prudy  !  To  be 
sure  !  to  be  sure  !  " 

"  Wai  I  wal !  wal !  "  chafes  the  impatient  woman. 
"  I  s'pose  I'm  to  lay  here  till  doomsday,  or  till  Abel's 
folks  come  home.  There  they  come  now,  —  don't 
they  ?  " 

"Yes,"  answers  the  cooper.  "They're  late,  on  the 
old  lady's  account.  I'll  tell  Abel  to  come  and  call  off 
his  dog." 

"  Don't  ye  for  the  world  !  Squat  right  down;  mabby 
they  wont  see  us  !  " 


Cooper  John  to  the  Rescue.  47 

""What!  ye  don't  re'ly  mean  to  say  you — you've 
been  —  hooking  the  tomatuses  ?  "  For  hitherto  John 
has  indulged  a  feeble  hope  that  the  affair  could  be  hon 
orably  explained. 

"  Squat  down,  I  say  ! "  And  John  squats,  hugging 
his  knees,  with  his  chin  between  them,  —  as  ludicrous  a 
picture  of  dismay  and  terror  as  was  ever  seen.  He 
feels  like  a  thief;  he  knows  he  looks  like  a  thief;  and 
the  storm  of  calamity  and  disgrace,  which  he  has  im 
agined  impending  above  his  little  bare,  bald  head  so 
long,  he  is  sure  is  now  going  to  burst. 

And  there  the  three  wait,  —  Turk  guarding  both  his 
prisoner  and  the  prizes;  for  the  basket  and  apron  are  so 
near  that  he  can  protect  them  without  letting  Prudence  up. 

"Prudy  !  "  whispers  John. 

"  What !  "  mutters  Prudy. 

"  It's  dreadful !  it's  dreadful  !  "  moans  John. 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  "  says  Prudy. 

The  cooper  sinks  his  chin  still  lower  between  his  knees, 
sighing  miserably. 

"  Prudy  !  "  —  after  a  long  pause. 

"  What  do  you  want  now  ?  " 

"I  wish  you'd  gone  to  meetin'  this  arternoon,  Prudy  1 " 

"  You  can't  wish  so  any  more'n  I  do  !  " 

"  If  you  had  only  heard  that  sermon,  Prudy  1 " 

"  Stop  your  noise  about  the  sermon  I  " 

Another  long  pause. 

"  Prudy  ! " 

"Well!  what?" 


48  Neighbors'    Wives. 

"  I  wish  I  was  dead  !  —  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  wish  this  dog  was  dead  ! " 

Upon  which,  to  convince  them  that  he  is  not  nor  any 
thing  like  it,  Turk  begins  to  bark. 

"  It's  all  over  now  !  "  says  Prudence. 

John  feels  that  there  is  nothing  left  him  but  suicide. 
He  can  never  confront  Abel  Dane  after  this ;  so  he  looks 
about  him  for  something  on  which  to  beat  out  his  brains. 
No  convenient  and  comfortable  object  for  the  purpose 
meets  his  eye,  but  a  good  big  squash.  And  before  he 
has  time  to  consider  which  may  prove  the  softer  of  the 
two,  his  pate  or  the  vegetable,  in  case  of  a  collision,  he 
hears  a  foot  in  the  grass.  He  twists  his  neck  around  on 
his  shoulders,  as  he  crouches,  softly  turns  up  his  timid 
glance  over  the  cabbages,  and  beholds  the  dreaded  vis 
age  of  Abel  Dane. 

Abel  stops  and  gazes,  too  much  amazed  to  speak. 
Turk  wags  his  tail,  and  looks  wistfully  for  approbation 
of  his  exploit. 

"  Come  here,  Turk  !  "  says  the  severe  voice  of  Abel. 

With  ill-concealed  misgivings,  Turk  takes  his  paws  oft' 
his  captive's  calico,  drops  his  head  between  his  fore  legs, 
and  his  tail  between  his  hind  legs,  and  cringes  at  his 
master's  feet. 

Cooper  John,  having  once  turned  round  his  head, 
softly  turns  it  back  again,  and  sits  as  still,  in  his  former 
toad-like  posture,  as  if  he  had  seen  the  face  of  a  Gorgon, 
with  the  old-fashioned  result.  Only  the  rear  slope  of  his 
little,  shining  bald  crown,  his  broad,  striped  suspenders 


Cooper  John  to  the  Rescue.  49 

crossed  behind  over  the  back  of  his  clean  Sunday  shirt, 
and  a  section  of  the  Sunday  trousers,  bearing  the  im 
print  of  the  aforesaid  over-ripe  melon,  are  visible  to  the 
wondering  eyes  of  Abel. 

As  for  Prudence,  she  loses  no  time,  but  gathers  her 
self  up  as  soon  as  Turk  permits,  and  begins  hurriedly 
to  shake  and  brush  her  gown. 

"  "Wai,  Abel  Dane,  this  is  a  pooty  sight  for  Sunday, 
I  'spose  you  think  !  And  so  it  is  I  "  flirting  violently, 
and  speaking  as  if  he  had  done  her  an  injury.  "  And  I 
want  to  know,  now,  ^  you  think  it's  neighborly  to  keep 
a  brute  like  that,  to  tear  folks  to  pieces  that  jest  set  a 
foot  on  to  your  premises  ?  For  here  he's  kep'  me 
groanin'  on  my  back  an  hour,  if  he  has  a  minute."  Then, 
turning  sharply  to  her  husband:  "John  Apjohn  !  what 
are  ye  shirkin'  there  for  ?  " 

Thus  summoned,  the  petrified  man  limbers,  and  rises 
slowly  upon  his  miserable  feet;  glancing,  with  those 
woe-begone,  large  eyes  of  his,  first  at  his  wife,  then  at 
Abel  Dane,  and  lastly  at  the  filched  tomatoes. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  says  Abel,  "  if  my  dog  has  put  you  to 
any  inconvenience.  He  didn't  bite  you,  I  hope  I " 

"  ]S"o  !  well  for  him  ! "  exclaims  Prudence,  red  and 
embarrassed,  but  trying  still  to  pass  the  affair  off  with  a 
brave  air.  "The  fact  is  jest  this,  Abel  Dane:  if  you 
begrutch  me  a  few  tomatuses,  it's  what  your  father  never 
done  before  ye,  and  I  never  expected  it  of  you;  and  I'll 
cheerfully  pay  you  for  'em,  if  you'll  accept  of  any  pay; 
and  my  husband  here  knows  I  only  jest  stepped  over 


50  Neighbors'   Wives. 

the  fence  to  save  a  few  that  was  bein'  wasted,  which  I 
thought  was  sech  a  pity,  and  you'd  jest  as  lives  we'd 
have  'em;  and  I  meant  all  the  time  to  tell  ye  I  took 
some,  when  that  plaguy  dog  !  "  — 

Here,  having  poured  forth  these  words  in  a  wild  and 
agitated  manner,  the  worthy  woman  broke  clown,  and 
wept  and  sobbed,  and  continued  confusedly  to  brush  her 
gown.  John  stood  by  and  groaned. 

"Well,  well,  neighbors,"  said  Abel,  "you're  quite 
welcome  to  the  tomatoes.  I  haven't  known  what  I 
should  do  with  'em  all,  and  I'm  g$ad  to  get  rid  of  'em. 
If  you  had  come  in  through  the  gate,  Turk  wouldn't 
have  meddled  with  you." 

As  he  spoke,  kindly  and  consolingly,  Prudence  only 
cried  the  more,  and  blindly  flirted  her  skirts;  while 
John,  wretchedly  bent,  with  a  supplicating  countenance, 
approached  his  neighbor. 

"  Abel  Dane,"  said  he,  in  a  voice  scarcely  audible,  it 
was  so  weak  and  hoarse,  "  me  and  you've  knowed  each 
other  ever  sence  you  was  a  child,  and  I  knowed  your 
father  'fore  ever  you  was  born;  and  I  believe  I've  al 
ways  had  an  honest  name  with  you  till  now." 

"And  so  you  have  now,  Mr.  Apjohn,"  said  Abel, 
cheeringly.  "Don't  let  a  little  thing  like  this  trouble 
you.  I  understand  you,"  —  and  he  shook  the  cooper's 
helpless,  cold  hand  with  genuine  cordiality. 

"Thank  ye,  thank  ye;  to  be  sure  !  "  murmured  John. 
I  am  an  honest  man;  and,  though  things  don't  look  jest 
right,  I  own,  yet  you  know,  Abel  Dane,  I'd  no  more  be 


Coo-per  John  to  the  Rescue.  51 

guilty  of  takin'  anything  that  didn't  belong  to  me  than 
I  would  cut  my  own  head  off." 

Abel,  pitying  him  sincerely,  and  seeing  well  enough 
that  this  poor,  shaking  creature  was  innocent,  whoever 
was  guilty,  assured  him  again  and  again  of  his  confi 
dence  and  good-will. 

"Thank  ye,  thank  ye;  to  be  sure,  to  be  sure  !  "  said 
John,  gratefully,  hunting  in  vain  in  his  pockets  and  on 
the  ground  for  his  red  silk  handkerchief  to  wipe  his 
eyes  with.  "And,  if  'twon't  be  too  much,  I've  one 
request  to  make.  'Twould  make  talk  if  it  should  be 
known,  and  we  would  never  hear  the  last  on't,  probably; 
and  I'd  ruther  die  at  once  than  be  pinted  at." 

"  I  promise  you,"  interrupted  Abel,  "  nobody  shall 
ever  hear  of  it  from  me.  Never  fear;  you  won't  be 
pointed  at.  Now  let's  say  no  more  about  the  matter. 
Here  are  your  tomatoes,  Mrs.  Apjohn;  and,  whenever 
you  want  any  more,  you've  only  to  come  in  through  the 
gate  and  get  them." 

"I  declare!"  gulped  the  woman;  "I've  no  words, 
Abel !  And,  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  never  to  mention 
it,  I'll  be  so  much  obleeged  !  " 

"  I  never  will.  So  that's  settled."  And  Abel  hurried 
them  away ;  for  he  saw  Faustina  approaching. 

John  took  the  basket  of  tomatoes,  heavily  against  his 
will,  and  Prudence,  with  a  sick  heart,  gathered  up  her 
apron  with  its  original  contents;  for  it  would  not  do  to 
refuse  the  gift  which  she  was  willing  to  take  before  it 
was  given.  And  so,  dejected  and  chagrined,  making 


52  Neighbors'  Wives. 

sickly  attempts  lo  utter  their  thanks  to  Abel  and  to  be 
civil  to  Faustina,  who  came  out,  splendid  in  silk,  and 
stared  at  them,  the  cooper  and  his  wife  departed  through 
the  gate,  and  went  home  to  their  waiting,  vacant  house, 
every  room  of  which  seemed  conscious  of  the  shame 
that  had  befallen  them,  and  the  very  atmosphere  to  be 
heavy  and  depressed  therewith. 


Sunday  Evening  at  AbeTs.  53 


VI. 

SUNDAY  EVENING  AT  ABEL'S. 

"ABEL,"  said  the  astonished  Faustina,  "  what  has 
happened  to  Mrs.  Apjohn  ?  " 

The  cooper  and  his  wife  were  hardly  yet  out  of  hear 
ing,  and,  as  Abel  walked  slowly  toward  his  own  door, 
with  the  beautiful  face  in  the  beautiful  bonnet  by  his 
side,  he  shook  his  head  and  was  silent. 

"  Who  told  them  they  could  have  the  tomatoes  ? " 
Faustina  insisted. 

"  I  did,"  said  Abel. 

"  But  what  has  she  been  down  in  the  dirt  for  ?  And 
what  makes  'em  both  look  so  like  death  ?  Come,  I  am 
dying  to  know  !  " 

Faustina  had  one  of  those  restless  minds  which  crave 
excitement,  and  which,  having  no  solid  food  of  thought 
or  occupation,  keep  the  appetite  of  curiosity  continually 
whetted  for  such  slight  morsels  of  village  gossip  as  you, 
of  course,  sage  reader,  hold  in  disdain.  Abel  saw  at 
once  how  difficult  it  would  be  to  hide  the  secret  from 
her. 

"  You  didn't  give  them  liberty  to  take  the  tomatoes, 
—  did  you  ?  "  she  questioned,  suspiciously. 
5* 


5  4  Neigh bors*  Wives . 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  resolving  to  trust  her,  and  relying 
upon  her  discretion.  "  Mrs.  Apjohn  had  got  a  little  the 
start  of  me,  however,  and  helped  herself  before  I  came." 

"  Stealing  !  "  ejaculated  Faustina. 

"  Absurd  ! "  answered  Abel.  "  She  intended,  of  course, 
to  tell  us  what  she  had  done;  but,  unluckily,  Turk  in 
terfered,  and  rather  disconcerted  the  poor  woman  by 
keeping  her  on  her  back,  as  she  declares,  a  full  hour." 

The  handsome  face  grew  excited. 

"  But  it  was  stealing  !  What  right  had  she  ?  Such 
people  ought  to  be  exposed  at  once,  and  made  an  exam 
ple  of." 

"  On  the  contrary,  my  dear,  I  look  upon  it  as  a  very 
unfortunate  affair.  The  less  said  about  it  the  better, 
and  I  pledged  my  word  to  them  never  to  speak  of  it." 

"  You  did,  did  you  ! "  said  Faustina,  indignantly. 
"  The  idea  of  letting  a  thief  off  that  way  !  " 

Abel  sighed,  as  he  did  very  often  lately;  and  the 
weary,  care-worn  look  he  gave  his  wife  was  nothing 
new. 

"  I  don't  think  she  meant  to  steal,  I  tell  you,"  he  said, 
with  some  impatience.  "  And  if  she  did,  I  wouldn't  tell 
of  it.  What  should  I  ruin  a  poor  woman's  reputation 
for,  when  it  is  probable  she  never  did  such  a  thing  before, 
and  would  never  do  it  again  ?  " 

"  You  are  mighty  easy  with  such  folks,  seems  to  me. 
For  my  part,  I  am  not.  I  say  they  ought  to  be  pun 
ished." 

"Let  him  that  is  without  sin,  cast  a  stone;  I  will  not. 


Sunday  Evening  at  AbePs.  55 

It  isn't  at  all  likely,"  added  Abel,  "  that  you  or  I  will 
ever  be  tempted  to  commit  so  foolish  a  trespass.  But 
are  we  never  guilty  of  anything  we  need  to  be  forgiven 
for  ?  In  this  case,  if  only  for  Cooper  John's  sake,  I 
would  hush  up  the  affair.  I  pity  him  from  the  bottom  of 
ray  heart.  His  wife  might  survive  an  exposure,  but 
it  would  kill  him.  So  remember  that  my  word  is 
pledged." 

Faustina  sneered.  She  was  not  so  very  beautiful 
then.  And  as  Abel  looked  at.her,  he  saw,  as  he  had  seen 
many  times  before  when  he  had  refused  to  credit  his 
perceptions,  that  there  was  no  beauty  of  soul,  no'  inform 
ing  loveliness,  in  that  fair  shape;  and  that  hers  was  a 
shallow,  selfish,  merely  brilliant  face  at  the  best. 

They  entered  the  house,  —  a  far  more  showy  dwelling 
now  than  when  Eliza  left  it,  but  to  Abel  a  home  no 
longer.  The  atmosphere  of  comfort  and  content  was 
wanting.  For  houses,  like  individuals,  have  their  atmos 
phere,  and  a  sensitive  soul  entering  your  abode  can  dis 
cern,  before  he  speaks  with  its  inmates,  whether  harmony 
and  blessedness  dwell  there,  or  whether  it  is  the  lodging 
of  discord  and  mean  thoughts. 

Proud  and  stern  as  he  was,  Abel  could  not  hide  from 
himself  how  much  he  missed  his  foster-sister.  He 
missed  that  even  and  gentle  management  of  his  house 
hold  affairs,  which  he  had  never  known  how  to  prize 
until  her  place  was  filled  by  an  extravagant  wife  and 
wasteful  servants.  He  felt  the  need  of  her  sympathy 
and  counsel  in  the  worldly  troubles  that  were  thickening 


56  Neighbors'   Wives. 

upon  him ;  for,  somehow,  he  could  never  open  his  heart 
on  these  subjects  to  Faustina.  The  holes  in  his  socks, 
the  wandering  shirt-buttons,  the  heavy  bread,  the  want 
of  neatness  and  order  from  cellar  to  garret,  reminded 
him  daily  of  his  loss.  In  his  mother's  face  he  saw,  un 
der  a  thin  veil  of  cheerfulness,  perpetual  sorrow  for 
Eliza's  absence.  When  he  came  home  to  his  meals,  he 
thought  of  the  tender  spirit  that  had  welcomed  him 
once.  And  in  the  evening  he  remembered  with  regret 
the  books  they  used  to  read  together.  Faustina  did  not 
like  to  read,  and  no  book  had  power  to  interest  her,  un 
less  it  were  one  of  those  high- wrought  fictions,  romances 
of  unreal  life,  which  disgusted  Abel. 

"What  she  liked  was  company.  Every  evening,  to 
please  her,  they  must  go  out  somewhere,  or  have  callers 
and  cards  at  home,  and  the  small  talk  of  some  such  nice 
young  man  as  Tasso  Smith.  Abel  hated  Tasso  Smith. 

"  I  like  him,"  Faustina  would  say,  with  a  little  toss  of 
her  head,  which  added,  as  plainly  as  words  could  do, 
"  and  that  settles  it." 

So  Tasso,  when  he  was  in  town,  frequently  favored 
the  Danes  with  his  choice  company.  Faustina  expects 
him  this  Sabbath  evening.  She  is  irritable  and  restless. 

"  Go  to  your  father,  do  !  "  she  says  to  little  Ebby,  who 
is  pulling  her  dress,  and  begging  to  be  taken  up.  Grief 
swells  the  baby  face  at  the  repulse;  and  he  hastens  for 
refuge  and  comfort  to  his  father's  bosom. 

And  now,  suddenly,  having  had  a  glimpse  of  a  visitor 
from  the  window,  Faustina's  discontented  brow  lights 


Sunday  Evening  at  AbcFs.  57 

up.  Abel's  countenance,  a  moment  since,  gentle  and 
tender,  darkens  as  suddenly  when  the  nice  young  man 
walks  in. 

"  Goin'  by,  thought  I'd  look  in,  see  how  you  liked 
the  disquisition  's  aft'noon,"  says  Tasso,  munching  his 
words  and  grimacing. 

"  I  do  wish  the  minister  wouldn't  have  so  much  to  say 
about  extravagance  in  dress  !  "  exclaims  Faustina. 

"If  we  can't  go  to  heaven  in  decent  clo'es,  what's 
the  use  ? "  says  Tasso,  stroking  the  moustache,  and 
showing  the  finger-rings. 

"  Besides,"  adds  the  lady,  "  I  don't  think  the  dresses 
in  our  society  are  much  to  brag  of,  anyway.  Taken  as 
a  set,  they  are  the  homeliest  women,  and  the  worst 
dressed  women  I  ever  saw." 

"One  or  two  'xceptions,  could  mention,"  responds 
Tasso,  with  a  flattering  simper. 

"  There's  Mrs.  Grasper's  bonnet,  —  what  a  fright !  " 

"  That's  so  !  Looks  like  a  last  year's  bird's  nest, 
feathers  left  in.  Do  to  go  with  her  shawl,  though.  Same 
shawl  Grasper  used  last  winter  for  a  boss-blanket;  'pon 
my  honor;  hi,  hi,  hi ! "  giggles  Mr.  Smith,  twisting  his 
ear-locks.  "How  je  like  the  disquisition,  t'-day  ?"  pat 
ronizingly,  to  the  old  lady. 

She  smiled  placidly,  and,  struggling  a  moment  with 
her  organs  of  speech,  which  refused  at  first  to  articulate, 
she  observed,  — 

" '  Withdraw  thy  foot  from  thy  neighbor's  house,  lest 
he  be  weary  of  thee.' " 


58  Neighbors'  Wives. 

The  text  happened  to  be  in  her  mind,  and  when  she 
opened  her  mouth  to  give  Tasso  a  civil  answer,  it  leaped 
out.  She  tried  to  catch  it,  but  it  was  gone.  And  it 
seemed  such  a  decided  hit  at  Tasso,  that  he  could  do 
nothing  but  look  confused  and  silly,  while  Faustina  red 
dened  with  resentment,  and  Abel  just  lifted  his  eyebrows 
with  a  smile  of  surly  humor. 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Squash,"  the  kind  old  lady  hastened 
to  say.  That  did  not  mend  the  matter;  and  she  frowned 
and  shook  her  head  at  herself  with  good-natured  impa 
tience.  "  Mr.  Smith  !  —  there,  now  I've  got  it !  I  meant 
to  say,  I  think  the  minister  gave  us,  this  afternoon,  one 
of  his  very  best  fricassees  —  no  —  what  is  the  word  ?  " 

"  Sermons,  I  call  them,"  said  Abel.  "  Tasso  calls  them 
disquisitions." 

"  One  of  the  best  sermons  I  ever  heard,"  added  the 
old  lady;  "  and  probably  the  last  I  shall  ever  hear." 

"  Old  Deacon  Judd  'peared  to  like  it,"  said  Tasso,  ral 
lying.  "  Je  see  his  mouth  stand  open  ?  Ye  c'd  'a'  drove 
in  a  good-sized  carriage,  and  turned  around.  —  Fricas 
sees  ! "  he  whispered  aside  to  Faustina,  and  tittered. 

"  Mrs.  Judd's  ribbons  took  my  eye  !  "  said  Faustina. 

"  They  look  like  pine  shavings  nailed  to  a  well-sweep  !  " 
added  Tasso.  "  Ye  mind  what  a  long  neck  she's  got  ? 
Most  extensive  curvical  appendage,  ye  und'stand,  they 
is  in  town.  Comes  by  stretching  it  up  every  Sunday 
so's't  she  can  hear  the  minister;  deaf,  I  'spose.  It's  so 
long  a'ready,  she  has  to  get  up  on  to  a  barrel  to  tie  her- 
bunnit."  He  whispered  again,  "  Fricassees  ! "  and 
snickered  as  before. 


Sunday  Evening  at  Abel's.  59 

Abel,  weary  of  this  unworthy  Sunday-evening  talk, 
and  perceiving  that  his  mother  was  a  subject  of  ridicule, 
felt  his  wrath  boiling  up  within  him. 

"  Jim  Locke's  bought  him  a  melodeon,"  was  the  next 
theme  started  by  Tasso. 

"  What  for  ?    He  never  can  learn  to  play  ! " 

"  He  ?  no  !  soft !  Think  of  Jim  Locke  with  a  melo 
deon,  Abel ! " 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  sternly  demanded  Abel. 

"Pshaw!"  said  Tasso;  "he  don't  want  a  melodeon, 
more'n  a  dog  wants  a  walking-stick." 

"  And  why  shouldn't  a  dog  have  a  walking-stick,  as 
well  as  a  puppy  ?  "  And  Abel  glanced  contemptuously 
at  Mr.  Smith's  rattan. 

Melissa,  the  servant,  now  came  to  help  the  old  lady  to 
bed;  performing,  as  well  as  such  unsympathizing  hands 
could,  the  task  which  always  painfully  reminded  both 
Abel  and  his  mother  of  Eliza.  And  now,  Abel,  full  of 
ire  and  spleen,  arose  and  left  the  room,  hugging  little 
Ebby  in  his  arms. 

"  Crusty  t'-night.  What's  the  matter  ?  "  whispered 
Tasso. 

"  I  don't  know.  Nothing  pleases  him,"  sighed  Faus 
tina. 

"  Don't  believe  that,  now." 

"  Don't  believe  it  ?  why  ?  " 

"  'Cause,"  simpered  the  eloquent  youth,  "  there  ain't  a 
man  in  the  world  you  can't  please,  though  he  was  as 
cross  as  seven  bears." 


60  Neighbors"  Wives. 

She  sighed  again,  and  regarded  her  visitor  gratefully. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  tiresome  old  woman  ? 
Don't  care  if  I  do  say  it ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  And  he 
thinks  I  ought  to  be  thankful  for  the  privilege  of  having 
her  in  the  house." 

"  Fricassees  ! "  said  Tasso. 

"  He  don't  like  company,  and  thinks  I  ought  to  settle 
down  and  be  a  dull  old  woman  with  her,  and  never  see 
anybody  else  from  one  year's  end  to  the  other."  The 
pretty  face  pouted.  "  In  such  a  stupid  place  as  this  ! " 

"Ought  to  be  thankful  for  such  near  neighbors." 
Tasso  never  neglected  an  opportunity  to  speak  dispar 
agingly  of  the  Apjohns.  "  Interesting  !  I  could  tell  a 
story  ! " 

"  So  could  I."  Faustina  laughed.  "  Some  of  our 
neighbors  are  extravagantly  fond  of  tomatoes." 

"Do  tell!    How  fond?" 

"Oh,  enough  so  that  they  don't  mind  getting  over 
fences  into  other  folks'  gardens,  and  helping  them 
selves  ! " 

"  You  don't  say  !  "  cried  Tasso,  eagerly. 

"Of  course  I  don't;  for  I  was  told  not  to.  And  you 
mustn't  let  Abel  know  I've  hinted  a  word  about  it,  nor 
any  one  else.  What  do  you  suppose  we  found  when  we 
came  home  from  meeting  to-day  ?  " 

"  Something  funny,  I  bet !  Give  us  the  story  I 
Come  ! " 

"  Will  you  give  me  yours  ?  You  said  you  could  tell 
one." 


Sunday  Evening  at  Abel's.  61 

Tasso  promised. 

"But  then,"  laughed  Faustina,  "Abel  charged  me 
strictly  not  to  mention  how  we  found  Mrs.  Apjohn  on 
'her  back  among  the  tomatoes,  her  apron  and  basket 
well  filled,  and  honest  Turk  holding  her  down,  while 
John  skulked  behind  the  cabbages." 

Tasso  was  so  delighted  that  he  jumped  up,  clapped 
his  hands,  and  laughed  with  unbounded  glee. 

"  Oh,  that's  too  good  !  it  kills  me  !  Oh,  no  !  I'll  never 
mention  it,  if  you  say  so.  But  wouldn't  I  have  been 
tickled  to  have  been  there  ?  " 

"  Now,  what's  your  story  ?  " 

"I  don't  dare  to  tell  it  now;  you  won't  believe  me. 
You  won't  believe  these  poor  people,  who  steal  their 
neighbor's  tomatoes,  are  —  misers  !  "  whispered  Tasso. 

"Nonsense!" 

"  It's  so,  I  tell  ye.  Perfect  misers  !  Eich  as  Jews  ! 
Keep  a  pile  of  money  in  the  house  all  the  time,  and  no 
body  knows  how  much  more  in  the  bank  !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"I'll  tell  ye.  'Bout  the  time  you  was  married, — 
united  in  the  bonds  of  high  menial  blessedness,  y'un- 
derstand,  with  your  amiable  consort,  —  hem  !  —  'bout 
that  time  I'd  just  come  out  fr'm  the  city,  toler'ble  flush, 
so  I  thought  I'd  look  into  Apj  ohn's  and  pay  him  some 
money  father  was  owing  him,  —  compensation  for  work, 
ye  know.  Well,  so  happened  I  had  some  large  bills; 
and  so  I  thought  I'd  bother  Cooper  John  a  little,  and 
asked  him  to  change. a  C.,  —  y'understand,  a  hunderd. 
6 


62  Neighbors'  Wives. 

By  George !  I  never  was  so  surprised  's  I  was  when 
Mrs.  Apjohn  took  a  key  from  the  clock-case,  and  went 
into  the  bedroom,  and,  after  jingling  silver  and  counting 
bills  there  for  five  minutes,  brought  out  change  for  my 
hunderd-dollar  note  !  It's  so,"  said  Tasso,  as  Faustina 
appeared  incredulous.  "  I  never  told  on't  before,  fear 
sDmebody'd  rob  the  old  misers.  Now,  by  George,  since 
they've  hooked  your  tomatoes,  I  don't  care  whether 
they  get  robbed  or  not !  I  can  tell  you  just  where  they 
keep  their  treasure,"  —  and  Tasso  specified  the  chest-till. 
"Yes,"  said  Faustina,  "very  pleasant  weather  in 
deed,"  as  Abel,  having  tucked  Ebby  away  in  his  crib, 
reentered  the  room  and  sat  down. 


Mr.  Smith's  Friend's  Jewels.  63 


VII. 

MR.  SMITH'S  FRIEND'S  JEWELS. 

MORE  than  one  cause  was  operating,  that  Sunday 
evening,  to  make  Abel  appear,  as  Tasso  expressed  it, 
crusty.  The  cheerlessness  of  his  home  was  nothing 
new.  These  frivolities  of  the  evening  had  long  since 
usurped  the  place  of  the  good  old-fashioned  readings 
and  social  comforts.  He  had  become  accustomed  to 
seeing  Faustina's  features  light  up  with  animation  at 
the  silly  conceits  of  Mr.  Smith,  and  he  was  not  jealous. 
But  now  there  was  a  new  burden  on  his  mind ;  his  pe 
cuniary  troubles  were  culminating.  Not  long  after  his 
marriage  he  had  been  obliged  to  mortgage  his  house. 
Since  then  his  debts  had  been  constantly  increasing. 
He  had  many  times  been  sorely  pushed  to  meet  his  lia 
bilities;  but  never  had  he  seen  a  darker  week  before 
him  than  this  which  was  coming. 

He  slept  little  that  night.  Monday  dawned.  After  a 
light  slumber,  the  gray  morning  beam  stole  in  upon 
him,  and  with  it  came  the  thought  of  the  payments 
which  he  could  devise  no  means  of  making.  A  tide  of 
restlessness  tossed  him.  He  looked  at  the  beautiful  be- 


64  Neighbors'    Wives. 

ing  by  his  side.  She  was  sleeping  a  heavy,  most  un- 
spiritual  sleep. 

"  Oh  !  if  she  would  only  sympathize  with  me  and  help 
me,"  thought  Abel,  "I  could  bear  anything;  but  she 
doesn't  care.  I  have  been  too  indulgent  to  her;  I  could 
refuse  her  nothing,  and  so  I  am  deep  in  debt."  He 
glanced  at  their  sleeping  child.  "  For  your  sake,  little 
one,  I  will  be  a  braver  and  stronger  man  in  future  I  " 

He  arose.  His  movements  in  the  room  awoke  Faus 
tina. 

"  Are  you  going,  Abel  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  hard  week's  work  before  me,  and  I  must 
begin  it,"  he  answered. 

"  O  Abel !  I  don't  feel  very  well,  and  I  don't  know  as 
I  shall  get  up  to  breakfast;  but  can't  you  leave  me  a 
little  money  before  you  go  ?  " 

"  How  much  ?  " 

"  Oh,  ten,  or  fifteen,  or  twenty  dollars,  —  I  don't  care." 

A  bitter  smile  contorted  Abel's  face.  "  For  what  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  I  am  going  into  the  village,  by-and-by,  and  I  always 
see  so  many  things  I  want;  and  I  haven't  had  any  money 
to  spend  for  myself  for  ever  so  long.  I  must  have  me  a 
dress  right  away,"  she  said  complainingly. 

"Don't  you  know  well  enough,"  demanded  Abel, 
"  that  I  am  harassed  almost  to  death  with  money-mat 
ters  already  ?  Haven't  I  told  you  that  I  have  no  more 
idea  than  a  man  in  his  grave  how  I  am  to  raise  half 


Mr.  Smithes  Friends  Jewels.  65 

enough  to  pay  what  must  "be  paid  this  week  ?  And  you 
talk  to  me  of  new  dresses  !  " 

When  he  was  gone,  Faustina  consoled  herself  with 
the  reflection  that  he  was  the  crudest  husband  and  she 
the  most  injured  wife  in  the  world;  sighed  to  think  she 
couldn't  have  a  new  dress  immediately,  and  went  to 
sleep  again. 

For  three  days  Abel  struggled  manfully  with  the 
obstacles  in  his  way ;  and  when  his  utmost  was  done,  he 
wanted  still  a  hundred  dollars  to  make  up  the  neces 
sary  amount.  A  small  sum  to  you,  flush  reader,  but  au 
immense  one  at  that  time  to  Abel  Dane.  But  on  the 
fourth  day  he  entered  the  house  with  tears  of  joy  in  his 
eyes. 

"  What  good  news  ?  "  asked  his  mother. 

"  A  miracle  !  "  exclaimed  Abel.  "  I  will  never  lose 
my  faith  in  Providence  again.  Just  as  my  last  re 
sources  were  exhausted,  and  I  had  given  up  all  hope, 
what  should  come  to  me,  in  a  blank  envelope  from  Bos 
ton,  but  a  draft  for  a  hundred  dollars  !  " 

Faustina,  who  had  not  yet  got  over  the  feeling  that  he 
was  an  inhuman  husband  and  she  an  injured  wife,  and 
did  not  neglect  to  manifest,  by  her  morose  conduct,  how 
much  she  was  aggrieved,  was  almost  surprised  out  of 
her  sulkiness  by  this  strange  announcement. 

"  Who  sent  it  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  I  have  not  the  remotest  suspicion ;  but  whoever  he 
may  be,  he  has  saved  me  from  ruin." 

Whilst  he  was  putting  the  draft  away  in  the  drawer 
6* 


66  Neighbor?  Wives. 

which  contained  the  money  he  had  raised,  and  his 
mother  was  inwardly  offering  up  a  prayer  of  thankful 
ness  for  this  favor  to  her  son,  Faustina  was  saying  to 
herself,  "  Well,  I  should  think  he  might  let  me  have  a 
new  dress  now,  if  I  have  to  run  in  debt  for  it." 

Poor  Faustina  !  let  us  not  blame  her  too  severely. 
Her  beauty  was  her  misfortune.  It  was  that  which  had 
spoiled  her.  From  her  childhood,  flattery  and  the  un 
wise  indulgence  of  over-careful  friends,  had  instilled 
into  her  the  pernicious  belief  that  she  was  the  fairest  and 
choicest  of  God's  creatures,  and  that  it  was  the  duty  of 
everybody  to  administer  to  her  pleasures,  while  it  was 
her  privilege  to  think  only  of  herself.  She  had  never  in 
her  life  known  what  it  was  to  make  a  sacrifice.  The 
blessed  habit  of  helping  others, —  of  forgetting  one's  own 
happiness  in  caring  for  the  happiness  of  others,  —  this 
unfortunately  fortunate  beauty  had  never  learned.  No 
doubt  she  had  in  her  soul  germs  of  noble  womanhood, 
which  affliction,  and  wise  kindness  on  the  part  of  her 
teachers,  might  have  developed.  But,  as  it  was,  she  had 
grown  up  to  be  a  child  still,  with  the  proportions  of  a 
woman,  unreasonable,  self-willed,  with  a  mind  undisci 
plined,  and  impulses  uncontrolled. 

That  forenoon  Tasso  Smith  called.  He  found  Faus 
tina  with  her  hair  in  curl-papers. 

"  Got  sumthin'  t'  show  ye ;  sumthin'  nice,  or  I 
wouldn't  have  took  the  trouble.  How's  tomatoes  ?  and 
how's  fricassees  ?  "  he  chuckled,  as  he  undid  a  package. 
"  Friend  of  mine's  got  some  jewelry  he  wants  to  raise 


Mr.  Smith's  Friend? s  Jewels.  67 

money  on,  and  he  sent  some  of  it  to  me.  You  know 
what  jewelry  is;  so,  just  for  curiosity,  thought  I'd  bring 
it  over." 

"Oh-oh-h —  splendid!"  cries  the  enraptured  Faus 
tina.  "  That's  the  most  magnificent  bracelet  I  ever 
saw.  O  Tasso  !  you  must  give  me  that  bracelet !  " 

"  Most  happy,  if  'twas  only  mine,"  smiles  the  sweet 
young  man.  "  Just  the  thing  for  you,  Faustiny  !  "  He 
clasped  it  on  her  too  willing  arm.  "  By  George  !  ain't 
it  a  stunner  ?  Didn't  know  it  was  so  splendid,  by 
George  !  Takes  a  beautiful  arm  to  show  oft"  a  fine 
bracelet  like  that." 

Faustina's  cheeks  were  kindling,  and  her  eyes  began 
to  burn.  Jewelry  was  an  intoxication  to  the  poor 
child.  She  passed  before  the  glass  with  her  jewelled 
arm  gracefully  folded  beneath  her  breast.  "  O  Tasso  ! 
I  must  have  this  bracelet,  some  way  !  Come,  you  never 
gave  me  anything  in  your  life.  All  my  friends  make  me 
presents  but  you,"  poutingly. 

"  I'd  give  ye  the  set  that  goes  with  it,  if  I  could. 
By  George  !  if  you  was  my  wife,  Fanstiny,  —  'xcuse  me 
for  saying  it,  —  I'd  make  ye  sparkle  till  men's  eyes 
watered  !  If  Abel  was  only  a  man  of  taste  !  " 

"  Don't  talk  of  Abel.  Taste  ! "  said  Faustina,  scorn 
fully  ;  and  she  sighed  and  caressed  the  bracelet. 

"What  did  a  plodding  fellow  like  him  ever  marry 
such  a  lady  as  you  are  for  ?  "  said  the  insinuating  Tasso. 
"  He  don't  want  a  brilliant  wife,  no  more'n  a  toad  wants 
a  side-pocket.  You  ought  to  be  the  lady  of  some  man 


68  Neighbors'  Wives. 

of  taste  and  enterprise,  —  see  the  world,  and  not  live 
cooped  up  here." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Tasso  Smith  !  "  cried  she,  with 
flashing  eyes.  "  You  make  me  wild.  Do  you  think  I 
don't  know  what  I  might  have  been,  and  that  I  like 
to  be  reminded  of  it  ?  "  Yet  it  was  evident  that  she  was 
not  displeased;  and  Tasso  knew  that  his  flatteries  were* 
wine  to  her  ambitious  heart. 

"  Here,  put  'em  all  on,"  said  he.  "  That's  a  love  of  a 
pin  ! " 

"  Oh,  it  is  !  And  those  ear-rings,  —  what  beauties  ! 
Tasso,  you  make  me  crazy  showing  me  these  things. 
Oh,  if  I  had  some  money  ! " 

"  They  can  be  had  dog-cheap,"  Mr.  Smith  observed. 
"  It's  a  rare  chance  for  anybody  that  wants  such  a  set  of 
jewels.  They  won't  become  everybody,  you  know. 
Takes  a  woman  of  style  to  wear  such  things.  It's  noth 
ing  to  me,  —  I've  nothing  to  gain  by  it,  —  but  I  should 
like  to  see  you  in  them  sparkling  gems.  I  tell  ye,  that 
bracelet  is  a  screamer  !  Why  don't  ye  buy  'em  ?  " 

"  Buy  them  ?  "  repeated  Faustina,  tremblingly.  "  I 
wish  I  could  !  What  do  they  cost  ?  " 

"  That  bracelet  and  the  set  together  retails  for  a  hun- 
derd  dollars  in  Boston.  The  lowest  wholesale  price  is 
sixty,  and  they  cost  my  friend  about  that.  He  wants 
me  to  get  sixty  for  'em  if  I  can;  but,  if  you  like,  I'll 
take  the  responsibility  and  let  you  have  'em  for  fifty. 
If  he  ain't  satisfied,  why,  'twon't  be  but  a  few  dollars  dif 
ference,  and  I'll  make  it  up  to  him." 


Mr.  Smith's  Friend's  Jewels.  69 

"  Fifty  dollars  I  "  sighed  Faustina.  "  Oh,  I  can't  buy 
'em,  Tasso." 

"  Sorry,"  said  Tasso.  "  You  never'll  have  another 
such  a  chance.  You  might  go  all  over  Boston,  and  you 
couldn't  find  another  such  set  as  that  for  less  'n  ninety 
dollars,  't  the  very  lowest.  I  don't  care  so  much  about 
.'commodatin'  my  friend,  as  I  do  to  see  you  wear  some- 
thin'  that  becomes  you."  He  watched  her  cunningly. 
"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  be  going;  for  I  must  write  to 
town  by  the  next  mail,  and  either  send  back  the  jewels 
or  the  money." 

The  thought  of  giving  up  those  precious  ornaments 
was  too  much  for  Faustina. 

"  I'll  keep  them,"  said  she,  "  and  pay  you  as  soon  as  I 
can  get  the  money  of  my  husband." 

"  If  'twas  my  affair,  I'd  give  ye  as  long  a  time*  to  pay 
for  'em  as  you  want,"  replied  the  smooth-tongued 
Smith;  "  but  my  friend's  only  object  in  disposing  of  'em 
for  any  such  low  price  is  to  raise  money  the  quickest 
possible.  I  don't  happen  to  have  the  funds  to  spare  jest 
now,  myself,  or  I'd  'commodate  ye.  You  may  never 
come  acrost  another  such  a  set  of  gems ;  for  there's  very 
little  such  gold  in  the  market;  not  to  speak  of  the  stones, 
which  are  re'l  Berzil  di'muns." 

"  What's  fifty  dollars  ?  "  suddenly  burst  forth  Fausti 
na,  in  one  of  her  ungovernable  impulses.  "  I'll  take 
them,  Tasso  I  I  may  as  well  have  something  now  and 
then  to  make  life  pleasant,  as  to  live  in  constant  submis- 


70  Neighbors'  Wives. 

sion  to  —  I  hate  the  grovelling  necessities  of  life,  and  I 
won't  be  a  slave  to  them  any  longer  !  " 

What  she  meant  by  these  wild  words,  Tasso  did  not 
know  nor  care  to  know.  His  mind  was  fixed  on  the 
sale  of  his  fictitious  friend's  very  fictitious  gold  and 
"  di'muns;  "  and  when  he  saw  her  sweep  from  the  room, 
impetuously,  and  presently  sweep  back  again  with  a 
fifty-dollar  bank-note  in  her  hand,  he  was  content,  with 
out  raising  any  more  questions. 

"  There,  my  beauty  !  "  said  he, "  though  I've  no  personal 
interest  in  the  matter,  allow  me  to  congratulate  you  on 
securing  a  bargain,  which  wouldn't  happen  to  you  again 
prob'bly  in  a  lifetime.  And  now,  I  must  hurry  and  get 
this  bill  into  a  letter,  and  mail  it  to  my  friend,  —  enclose 
it  t'  my  correspondent,  y'  understand ;  —  bless  me,  by 
George  !  "  looking  at  his  watch,  which,  by  the  way,  did 
not  go,  being  pinchbeck,  like  the  rest  of  his  jewelry, 
"  I've  scarcely  time  to  get  around  now  !  Good-by  !  " 

He  was  gone  almost  before  she  knew  it.  Then,  look 
ing  once  more  at  the  ornaments  he  had  left  upon  her 
person,  remembering  Abel  and  his  payments,  and  realiz 
ing  fully,  for  the  first  time,  what  she  had  done,  a  guilty 
fear  came  over  her,  and  she  ran  to  call  Tasso  back. 

Too  late ;  he  was  already  out  of  sight. 


Faustina's  Tangled  Web.  71 


VIII. 

FAUSTINA'S  TANGLED  WEB. 

"A  WEIGHT  like  a  mountain  has  been  taken  from  my 
mind  !  "  exclaimed  Abel,  coming  in  to  dinner.  "  I  don't 
see  how  I  could  raise  another  dollar  without  putting  up 
my  goods  at  auction.  What  I  should  have  done  but 
for  the  draft  which  came  this  morning,  I  don't  know,  — 
yes  I  do,  too ;  I  should  have  been  a  bankrupt  for  the  want 
of  a  hundred  dollars.  To  have  been  fifty  dollars  short 
would  have  been  just  as  bad.  I  have  seen  Mr.  Hodge 
to-day,  and  he  says  he  must  have  the  money  without 
fail.  I  am  to  see  him  this  evening  and  have  a  settle 
ment.  Faustina,"  Abel  added,  with  real  tenderness,  "  if 
you  could  know  what  an  ordeal  I  have  passed,  and  the 
relief  it  is  now,  to  feel  that  I  have  in  the  drawer  there  the 
means  to  help  myself  out  of  the  worst  place  I  was  ever 
in,  you'd  forgive  me  for  refusing  you  money  as  harshly 
as  I  did,  and  be  glad  I  did  refuse  you." 

Faustina  listened  to  these  words  with  conscience-smit 
ing  fear.  The  jewels,  which  she  had  hastily  hidden 
away  at  his  coming,  were  no  solace  now,  but  only  a  ter 
ror  to  her  soul.  What  would  he  do  when  he  found  he 


7  2  Neighbors'    Wives. 

had  been  robbed  ?  What  would  he  say  when  he  learned 
how  she  had  squandered  the  missing  money,  and  for 
what  ?  Could  she  hope  to  pacify  him  by  a  display  of  the 
baubles  which  had,  in  the  hour  of  temptation,  seemed  to 
her  more  precious  than  his  honor  and  his  peace  ?  They 
were  beginning  to  appear,  in  her  own  eyes,  worthless  as 
they  were.  His  scorn  and  wrath,  if  he  should  see  them, 
she  could  well  imagine.  More  and  more,  as  she  looked 
forward  to  it,  she  dreaded  the  inevitable  exposure.  Abel 
perceived  her  flush  and  agitation;  but,  remembering  how 
sullen  she  had  been  since  he  refused  her  the  money  she 
required,  he  thought  her  resentment  had  taken  some 
new  form,  and  was  not  surprised  at  it. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,"  she  ventured  at  last  to  sug 
gest,  "  that  only  just  fifty  dollars  would  make  such  a  dif 
ference  in  your  affairs  ?  " 

"  The  difference  would  be,"  replied  Abel,  "  that  in 
helping  myself  out  of  the  well,  the  chain  I  am  to  climb 
up  by  would  lack  just  so  much  of  reaching  down  to  my 
hand.  And  when  a  man  has  strained  every  nerve  to 
grasp  an  object,  it  might  as  well  be  withdrawn  ten 
yards  from  his  hand,  as  ten  inches." 

"  But,"  faltered  Faustina,  "  ain't  you  afraid  —  the 
money  will  be  stolen  ?  " 

"  Not  with  you  in  the  house,"  replied  the  confiding 
Abel.  "  Guard  it  as  you  would  my  life  !  I  could  about 
as  soon  face  death  as  learn  that  any  part  of  that  money 
had  been  lost !  Faustina,"  he  said,  cheeringly,  "  don't 
look  so  gloomy.  Better  times  are  coming.  We  will  live 


Faustinas  Tangled  Web.  73 

more  within  our  means,  think  less  of  the  world  and  its 
trifles,  and  be  much  happier.  It  don't  require  silks  and 
gewgaws  to  make  a  home  comfortable." 

He  folded  her  in  his  arms.  He  was  so  thankful  and 
happy  that  he  desired  to  bless  her  also  with  the  overflow 
of  his  large  heart. 

She  suppressed  her  feelings  as  well  as  she  could  till  af 
ter  he  was  gone.  He  had  eaten  his  dinner,  and  departed 
full  of  joy  in  his  present  good  fortune  and  hope  for  the 
future.  But  night  would  soon  come,  and  with  it  disclos 
ure  and  disgrace.  She  could  imagine  him  unsuspecting 
ly  welcoming  Mr.  Hodge,  taking  out  the  money  to 
pay  him,  and  starting  suddenly  appalled  by  the  discov 
ery  of  her  theft.  What  should  she  do  ?  At  heart  a 
coward,  she  felt  that  she  could  never  meet  her  husband's 
just  and  terrible  wrath.  It  was  a  characteristic  trait  of 
her  selfishness,  that,  all  this  while,  she  thought  little  of 
his  ruin,  and  of  what  he  would  suffer  when  the  disclos 
ure  was  made,  but  only  of  the  shock  and  the  shame 
that  would  befall  herself.  And  now,  the  restraint  of  his 
presence  removed,  she  gave  way  to  wild  and  desperate 
resolves.  Without  staying  to  take  her  hair  out  of  the 
cuil-papers,  she  threw  on  her  bonnet. 

"  Melissa,"  she  said,  "  stop  this  child's  crying.  I  am 
going  out  a  little  while.  Perhaps  "  —  the  bitter  impulse 
prompted  her,  and  she  muttered  the  words  through  her 
teeth  -^  "  perhaps  I  shall  never  come  back." 

For  she  had  thrust  the  jewels  into  her  bag,  and  taken 
the  bag  upon  her  arm,  with  the  blind,  passionate  feeling 
7 


74  Neighbors'  Wives. 

that  she  would  never  return  to  that  house  and  to  her 
wronged  husband  without  bringing  back  with  her  the 
money  of  which  she  had  robbed  him. 

In  the  slovenly  kitchen  of  a  slovenly  house,  in  com 
pany  with  a  slovenly  woman,  two  slovenly  girls,  and  a 
ragged  old  man,  the  elegant  Tasso  Smith  was  at  dinner, 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  when  a  quick  rap  came  at  the 
door. 

"It's  Faustiny  Dane;  she  wants  to  see  you,  Tasso," 
said  Miss  Smith,  having  gone  to  the  stoop  with  her  friz 
zled  hair. 

Tasso  turned  all  colors  in  quick  succession  during  the 
half-minute  that  ensued,  —  either  from  embarrassment 
at  having  the  beautiful  Faustina  find  him  in  such  a  home, 
and  see  his  uncombed,  slatternly  sister  open  the  door,  or 
because  he  supposed  she  had  discovered  the  worthless 
character  of  the  trinkets  he  had  sold  her.  He  wiped 
his  lips  hurriedly  on  the  dirty  table-cloth,  put  on  his 
coat,  and  went  palpitating  to  the  door,  with  the  most  in 
ane,  simpering  expression  which  it  is  possible  for  the 
human  countenance  to  wear. 

"  Tasso,"  said  Faustina,  in  quick,  decisive  tones,  "  I 
want  to  speak  with  you  a  minute." 

"  W-w-will  ye  walk  in  ?  "  stammered  the  reluctant 
Tasso,  "  or  sh'll  I  get  m'  hat  ?  " 

For  he  knew  that  it  was  not  a  house  fit  to  show  her 
into. 

"  Get  your  hat,"  said  Faustina,  with  strange  eyes  and 
hectic  cheeks. 


Faustina's  Tangled  Web.  75 

She  walked  with  nervous  steps  to  and  fro  on  the  half- 
rotten  plank  before  the  door,  until  Tasso  got  his  hat  and 
came  out. 

"  Folks  ain't  very  well ;  m'  sister  hain't  had  time  to 
change  her  dress  to-day;  I'd  invite  ye  in,  but "  — 

She  interrupted  the  silly  apology. 

"  Tasso,  I  can't  keep  the  jewels  !  " 

"  Can't  ?    Why  not  ?  " 

Mr.  Smith  grinned  and  picked  his  foolish  teeth. 

"  I  took  some  money  my  husband  had  got  to  pay  off  a 
note  with  and  the  interest  on  a  mortgage;  he  don't 
know  it  yet,  but  when  he  does,  I  suppose  he  will  kill  me ; 
and  I  must  have  that  money,  and  take  it  back.  Here 
are  the  jewels." 

She  pulled  open  her  bag,  and  eagerly  handed  out  the 
package,  which  Tasso  did  not  touch. 

"  Don't  speak  quite  so  loud,"  he  said.  "  Step  this 
way." 

For  the  truth  about  that  interesting  young  man  was, 
that,  when  not  absent  in  the  city,  he  was  living  upon  his 
thriftless  relations,  without  making  them  any  other 
compensation  than  that  which  his  elegant  manners  and 
the  value  of  his  society  afforded ;  and  he  was  unwilling 
they  should  know  that  he  had  that  day  received  a  sum 
of  money  which  would  have  gone  far  toward  paying  his 
summer's  board. 

"Like  to  keep  my  business  little  bit  private;  sisters 
'u'd  think  might  give  them  some  jewels,  if  they  knew  I. 
had  any  in  my  possession." 


76  Neighbors'  Wives. 

"  Take  them,"  said  Faustina,  "  and  give  them  to  any 
body  you  please.  And  give  me  back  the  money,  at 
once  ! " 

"  Sorry  to  say,"  replied  Tasso,  "  I've  jest  sent  the 
money  oft'  to  my  friend.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  of  this 
before  ?  It  was  no  interest  to  me  to  sell  you  the  jewels. 
I  mailed  the  letter  an  hour  ago,"  he  added,  with  a  smile 
on  his  countenance,  and  the  money  in  his  pocket  at  the 
moment. 

Faustina  drew  a  quick  breath,  and  cast  upon  him  a 
stony,  despairing  look;  the  hand  which  held  the  jewels 
dropping  by  her  side. 

"  Tasso,"  she  said,  "  you  have  been  my  ruin.  I  can 
never  go  back  to  that  house  without  the  money.  What 
shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Sure.  I  don't  know,"  palavered  the  deceiver.  "  I  con 
sider  it  the  most  unfortunate  circumstance  'n  th'  world,  't 
you  didn't  mention  the  way  you  was  situated,  'fore  I  sent 
off  the  money.  Might  stop  the  letter  now,  only  the  mail 
has  been  gone  as  much  as  an  hour.  What  will  you  do  ? 
If  I  only  had  the  money  to  lend  you  now  !  Most  al 
ways  have  as  much  as  that  about  me,"  said  he  sympa 
thetically,  with  the  only  fifty-dollar  bank-note  he  had 
had  in  his  possession  for  six  months  peeping  then  out 
of  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

"  You  must  lend  me  the  money  ! "  exclaimed  Faustina. 
"  You  must  get  it  for  me  !  or  else  "  —  her  heart  throbbed 
up  into  her  throat  with  the  wildness  of  the  thought  that 
dared  to  enter  it  —  "you  will  never  see  me  again,  Tasso: 


Faustina's  Tangled  Web.  77 

I  shall  go  —  I  don't  know  where;  but  I  shan't  go  back 
to  his  home,  that  is  settled." 

"  I  have  it ! "  said  Tasso.  "  I  know  where  you  can 
borry  the  money." 

"  Where  ?  for  mercy's  sake  !  " 

"  Of  those  misers  so  fond  of  tomatoes,  you  know." 

"  The  Apjohns  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  Oh,  I  don't  be 
lieve  they  have  got  so  much  as  you  tell  of;  and  they 
wouldn't  lend  it,  if  they  have." 

"  By  George  !  what  I  told  you,  now,  it's  a  fact,  by 
George  !  —  hope  to  die  if  'tain't !  "  said  Tasso.  "  And 
they'll  lend,  I  guess,"  significantly. 

"  Go  and  ask  them  !  " 

"Not  to  me,  I  don't  mean;  they  wouldn't  lend  to  me. 
But  you  jest  go  and  mention  the  tomatoes,  and  tell  the  old 
woman  you  can't  keep  the  secret  no  longer  without  she 
'commodates  you  to  a  hunderd  dollars,  —  may  as  well 
get  a  hunderd  while  you're  about  it"  (Tasso  remem 
bered  he  had  more  pinchbeck  to  sell),  —  "and  she'll 
shell  out  her  miserly  hoards,  I  bet  ye,  now  1 " 

"  O  Tasso,  I  don't  know  !  But  I'll  try.  Wait  here  for 
me,  won't  you  ?  Or,  no ;  meet  me  somewhere,  —  where  ?  " 

"  Up  by  the  meeting-house,"  suggested  Tasso. 

"  Yes  !  Don't  fail  me,  now  !  for  if  they  won't  lend  me 
the  money,  I  don't  know  what  I  can  do  without  you." 

She  hurried  away  on  her  exciting  errand;  while 
Tasso  looked  after  her  with  a  pale,  sickly,  cunning  leer, 
picking  his  rotten  teeth  with  one  hand,  and  lingering 
the  bank-note  in  his  pocket  with  the  other. 


78  Neighbors'  Wives. 


IX. 

FAUSTINA   RETURNS  MRS.  APJOHN's  VISIT. 

FAUSTINA  walked  back  toward  the  cooper's  house, 
with  dubious  and  undecided  steps  at  first,  but  gradually 
quickening  her  pace  as  her  doubts  gave  place  to  deter 
mination.  Why  had  she  not  thought  of  the  Apjohns 
before  ?  They  should  help  her.  Would  they  dare  to 
refuse  what  she  asked  ?  And  could  she  not  compel 
them,  by  threats,  to  lend  her  the  money  ? 

She  reached  the  cooper's  house.  In  her  impetuous 
impatience,  she  did  not  stop  to  knock,  but  would  have 
entered  straight,  without  ceremony,  had  not  the  door 
been  locked.  She  hurried  around  to  the  kitchen  door,  — 
that  was  fastened  also.  A  shade  of  disappointment 
passed  over  her;  but  it  fell  like  the  shadow  of  a  cloud 
on  a  rushing  stream,  without  checking  its  course.  Her 
purpose  could  not  be  thwarted;  though  she  might  have 
to  wait. 

Mrs.  Apjohn  was  certainly  not  at  home.  Perhaps  the 
cooper  was.  So  much  the  better;  for  it  would  be  easier 
to  deal  with  him  than  with  his  wife.  She  hastened  to 
the  shop.  That  was  likewise  shut  and  silent.  Here 
was  an  unforeseen  difficulty. 


Faustina  Returns  Airs.  Af John's  Visit.     79 

Should  she  go  and  meet  Tasso,  and  then  come  back 
after  the  Apjohns  had  returned  ?  Or  should  she  go 
home  and  wait  ?  She  could  do  nothing,  think  of  noth 
ing,  till  this  exciting  business  was  over.  If  she  could 
only  get  into  the  house  ! 

Then  she  remembered  a  circumstance  which  she  had 
several  times  observed,  looking  across  from  her  own 
house  to  her  neighbor's.  When  Mrs.  Apjohn  was  going 
away  and  leaving  John  in  the  shop,  it  was  her  <  /istom, 
after  putting  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl  and  lockiiv^  the 
backdoor  on  the  outside,  to  carry  him  something,  which 
Faustina  conjectured  was  the  key.  But  when  John  w.^ 
not  there,  she  used  to  stoop  down  and  secrete  the  said 
something  under  the  door-step;  in  order,  probably,  that 
he  could  have  the  means  of  entering  the  house  in  case 
he  should  come  home  before  her.  Faustina  had  also 
observed  that  the  one  who  returned  first,  on  such  occa 
sions,  invariably  took  something  from  beneath  the  step 
before  unlocking  the  door. 

What  if  the  key  were  there  now  ?  She  was  back 
again  at  the  rear  of  the  house  in  a  moment.  There  she 
stood,  just  long  enough  to  look  about  her.  Nobody  was 
in  sight.  No  unneighborly  watch-dog  was  there  to  in 
terfere  with  her  operations,  as  Turk  had  interfered  with 
those  of  Mrs.  Apjohn  in  the  tomato-patch.  Quickly 
she  put  down  her  hand  where  she  had  seen  Prudence  put 
down  hers.  She  touched  something  metallic,  smooth, 
and  cold.  It  was  the  door-key. 

"  I'll   go  in  and  wait  anyway.     There  can't  be  any 


8o  Neighbors'    Wives. 

harm  in  that,"  was  Faustina's  excuse,  as  she  unlocked 
the  door. 

The  next  minute  she  was  alone  in  the  closed  and  si 
lent  house. 

She  sat  down  and  breathed.  But  she  was  too  nervous 
to  remain  long  seated.  She  got  up,  and  walked  about, 
and  looked  out  of  the  windows,  and  peeped  into  the  dif 
ferent  rooms.  She  listened  to  hear  her  neighbors  com 
ing;  yet  she  almost  dreaded  to  have  them  come.  Sup 
posing  they  should  refuse  her  the  money,  and  laugh 
at  her  threats  ?  Oh,  if  she  was  only  sure  they  had 
money  ! 

In  the  bedroom  she  saw  the  chest  as  Tasso  had  de 
scribed  it.  She  entered  softly,  hesitating  with  that  su 
perstitious  feeling  which  often  haunts  the  visitor  in  a 
still  and  empty  house,  especially  if  he  has  no  rightful 
business  there.  Perhaps  Prudence  was  hid  behind  her 
own  petticoats  that  hung  over  the  bed ;  or  what  if  the 
little  cooper  was  tucked  away  in  the  corner  behind  the 
bureau,  on  the  lookout  for  burglars  ?  Faustina  just 
tried  the  lid  of  the  chest,  and,  finding  it  fastened,  walked 
back  rather  quickly  to  the  kitchen,  with  starting  and 
creeping  sensations  in  her  nerves,  which  were  not  agree 
able. 

"  Will  they  never  come  ?  "  she  said  to  herself.  "  I 
won't  wait  much  longer  !  " 

She  looked  at  the  clock;  but  she  forgot  to  notice  the 
time  in  the  perturbation  of  thinking  of  the  key  which 
Tasso  said  was  kept  hidden  there.  Summoning  a  bold 


Faustina  Returns  Mrs.  Afyohrfs  Visit.    81 

resolution,  she  stepped  to  the  high  mantel-piece,  opened 
the  clock,  and  found,  sure  enough,  a  key  hung  up  within 
the  case.  She  ran  with  it  to  the  bedroom,  and  was 
almost  frightened  to  find  that  it  fitted  the  chest. 

Well,  she  might  as  well  finish  what  she  had  begun. 
Though  the  Apjohns  should  suddenly  come  in  and  catch 
her,  she  could  easily  silence  them  by  holding  the  toma 
toes  over  their  heads.  So  she  turned  the  key,  and  the 
chest  opened. 

But  here  she  met  with  an  unexpected  obstacle.  The 
till,  in  which  she  now  firmly  believed  that  there  was 
cash,  was  also  locked;  and  Mrs.  Apjohn,  if  she  was  the 
prudent  female  we  take  her  for,  no  doubt  had  the  key 
of  it  in  her  reticule.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Break 
open  the  slender  till  ?  That  Faustina  dared  not  do. 
Abandon  the  search  ?  That  she  would  not.  Into  every 
corner  of  the  chest  she  thrust  ner  hand,  and  overhauled 
John  Apjohn's  shirts  and  Mrs.  Apjohn's  folded  pillow 
cases  and  sheets  and  bedspreads,  in  pursuit  of  the  miss 
ing  key.  She  often  thought  she  heard  footsteps,  and 
stopped  to  listen,  then  with  trepidation  renewed  her 
search. 

But  no  key  was  to  be  found.  She  tried  the  key  of 
the  clock-case  and  the  winding-up  key;  but  neither  of 
them  would  fit.  Should  she  give  up  so  ?  There  was  a 
key  in  her  bag ;  she  would  try  that.  It  was  too  large. 
Then  she  bethought  her  of  the  key  to  the  case  of  jewels. 
She  tried  it,  —  it  was  too  small.  No,  it  would  enter  1 
she  could  turn  it;  and  lo,  the  till  was  unlocked  ! 


82  Neighbors'  Wives. 

Ah,  well  was  it  for  Faustina,  who  had  condemned  her 
neighbor's  trespass  so  severely,  that  there  was  no  big 
dog  to  pounce  in  upon  her  now,  and  arrest  her  in  the 
midst  of  an  act  that  looked  quite  as  much  like  larceny 
as  anything  Prudence  Apjohn  ever  did  !  It  would  be 
interesting  to  know  if  she  thought  of  the  stolen  tomatoes 
then,  and  the  remarks  she  had  made  on  the  occasion. 
Alas  for  this  poor  human  nature  of  ours,  which  prompts 
us  to  pass  sentence  to-day  upon  the  very  sins  we  may 
have  been  guilty  of  yesterday,  or  may  commit  to-mor 
row  !  The  more  liable  we  ourselves  are  to  yield  to 
temptation,  the  sterner  our  judgment  is  apt  to  be  of 
those  who  have  fallen.  "Whereas  the  truly  wise  man, 
who  has  known  by  experience  what  temptation  is,  and 
has  conquered  it,  is  he  of  all  others  whose  cloak  of 
charity  is  broadest  and  warmest. 

Yet  Faustina  had  never  believed  herself  capable  of 
such  an  act  as  she  was  now  committing.  She  had  ap 
proached  the  cooper's  house  full  of  virtuous  indignation 
against  robbing  and  pilfering,  and  had  the  speech  ready 
by  which  she  intended  to  humiliate  the  wrong-doer,  and 
exact  indemnity  for  the  wrong.  And  here  she  is,  self- 
abandoned  to  the  sin  which  she  had  deemed  so  monstrous 
and  unpardonable  in  another  ! 

For  Tasso  had  spoken  truly  once.  In  the  till  there 
was  a  pocket-book.  In  the  pocket-book  there  was  a 
roll  of  bills.  These  she  hastily  opened,  and  folded  up 
again  as  hastily.  With  quivering  fingers  she  had  ex 
tracted  the  sum  she  required,  —  a  fifty-dollar  note,  the 


Faustina  Returns  Mrs.  Apjohns  Visit.     83 

sight  of  which  had  sent  a  thrill  of  terrified  joy  to  her 
soul.  This  she  thrusts  into  her  bosom.  The  rest  of  the 
money  she  returns  to  the  pocket-book,  places  the  pocket- 
book  in  the  till,  and  locks  the  till  with  the  key  of  the 
jewel-case.  Then,  having  smoothed  the  rumpled  linen 
in  the  chest  as  well  as  she  can,  she  lets  down  the  heavy 
lid  again,- and  locks  it  with  the  key,  which  she  returns 
to  the  clock-case. 

All  this  has  passed  almost  too  quickly  for  thought. 
But  now,  standing  in  the  room,  lingering  and  listening, 
with  tremors  of  heart,  she  begins  to  reflect,  — 

"  Maybe  they  never'll  know  who  took  it.  I'll  threaten 
to  tell  about  the  tomatoes  if  they  go  to  make  a  fuss." 
But  suppose  she  should  meet  them  as  she  goes  out  ? 
This  is  now  her  great  trouble.  "  Who  cares  ?  "  she 
says  to  herself.  "  I'll  tell  them  I  came  to  borrow  some 
money,  and  have  taken  it,  and  mean  to  repay  it;  and  if 
they  say  a  word,  they  shall  hear  of  the  tomatoes  all 
over  town.  I've  got  the  money  and  they  can't  help 
themselves." 

So  saying,  she  flirts  a  curl-paper  out  of  her  hair. 
Without  perceiving  the  insignificant  loss,  —  for  has  she 
not  a  far  more  precious  bit  of  paper  in  her  bosom  ?  — 
she  quits  the  house,  locks  it  after  her,  puts  the  key  un 
der  the  door-step,  and  hurries  home  —  unobserved  ? 

Now,  breathless,  in  her  own  room  she  stands;  takes 
off  her  things,  and  arranges  her  hair  before  the  glass; 
incorporates  Mrs.  Apjohn's  note  with  the  sum  which 
Abel  had  saved,  inventing  a  score  of  arguments  towards 


84  Neighbors'  Wives. 

self-justification;  hides  away  the  miserable  jewels;  and 
then,  forgetful  of  her  engagement  with  Tasso,  establishes 
herself  at  the  window  to  watch,  through  the  curtains, 
for  Mrs.  Apjohn's  return. 


Faustina's  Suspense.  85 


x. 

FAUSTINA'S  SUSPENSE. 

IT  is  an  anxious  hour  to  Faustina.  With  all  her  reit 
erated  assurances  to  herself  that  she  has  done  only  what 
necessity  compelled  her  to  do,  and  what  she  had  a  per 
fect  right  to  do  after  Mrs.  Apjohn's  example,  she  feels  a 
deep  concern  to  know  whether  her  visit  to  the  house 
will  be  discovered,  and,  in  that  case,  what  wfll  be  the 
issue.  For  a  long  time  she  perceives  no  signs  of  life 
about  the  Apjohn  premises.  The  grocer's  boy  comes 
with  a  bundle,  knocks,  and,  after  waiting  a  few  minutes, 
deposits  it  on  the  door-step.  Then  Cooper  John  ap 
pears,  and  Faustina  holds  her  breath.  But  he  passes 
by,  just  looking  at  the  bundle  on  the  door-step,  and  en 
ters  his  shop,  where  presently  he  can  be  heard  hammer 
ing  the  old  tune  on  the  hoop,  — "  Cooper  Dan,  Cooper 
Dan,  Cooper  Dan,  Dan,  Dan!"  —  sounds  which  never 
fell  so  heavily  on  Faustina's  heart  before, 

But  soon  she  has  more  dreadful  things  to  contemplate. 

Prudence  Apjohn  has  returned,  with  her  arms  full  of 

packages  from  the  store.    These  she  lays  beside  the 

larger  bundle  which  has  already  arrived,  and  inserts  a 

8 


86  Neighbors'  Wives. 

hand  beneath  the  door-step.  Then  she  unlocks  the  door, 
and  opens  it.  Then  she  loads  up  her  apron  with  the 
packages,  and  enters.  Then  she  shuts  the  door  behind 
her,  and  all  is  ominously  still,  and  Faustina  waits  for 
the  anticipated  explosion.  Prudence  has  had  plenty  of 
time  to  go  to  the  chest  and  discover  the  burglary;  still 
there  is  no  movement  of  alarm.  But  now  it  is  coming  ! 
Faustina  feels  her  cheek  blanch  as  the  kitchen-door  of 
the  Apjohn  cottage  flies  open,  and  the  portly  figure  of 
Prudence  appears.  But  apprehension  is  useless.  No 
scream  is  heard;  the  ponderous  arms  are  not  flung  up 
ward  with  despair  at  the  loss  of  half  her  treasure; 
Mrs.  Apjohn  has  a  tin  teakettle  in  her  hand,  which  she 
fills  at  the  well,  and  goes  back  with  it  to  the  house 
again. 

Faustina's  fear  is  relieved.  And  now  she  considers 
within  herself  the  expediency  of  going  over  and  telling 
Mrs.  Apjohn  what  she  has  done.  But  her  evil  genius 
whispers,  "You  will  never  be  discovered;  keep  still  !" 

Faustina  kept  still  accordingly.  She  entered  the 
kitchen,  and  finding  some  work  to  do,  set  herself  about 
it  with  remarkable  industry.  Faustina  was  cheerful. 
Faustina  was  demure.  She  spoke  pleasantly  to  Me 
lissa,  and  did  not  scold.  She  actually  tolerated  little 
Ebby,  and  did  not  say,  as  usual,  "Oh,  go  away;  you 
spoil  my  nice  collar  ;  take  him,  Melissa."  And  what 
was  most  extraordinary,  she  appeared  quite  amiable  to 
ward  the  old  lady. 

"  Do  you  feel  pretty  well  to-day,  dear  mother  ?  "  with 
a  smile  of  filial  solicitude. 


Faustinas  Suspense.  87 

"  Oh,  quite  well,"  smiles  back  the  old  lady,  "  with  the 
exception  of  the  pain  in  my  bootjack,"  —  meaning  her 
rheumatic  shoulder. 

Abel  comes  home  to  supper,  and  is,  at  first,  pleased 
with  the  change  in  his  fair  young  wife.  The  cloud  has 
passed  from  her  brow.  She  greets  him  with  a  serene 
aspect.  But  she  is  almost  too  affectionate,  too  eager  to 
please.  He  half-suspects  that  she  means  to  coax  money 
out  of  him  by  putting  on  these  fascinations.  There  is  a 
nervousness  in  her  manner,  an  ill-concealed  excitement 
in  her  looks,  and  often  an  incoherence  and  singular  ab 
ruptness  in  her  words,  which  do  not  seem  quite  natural. 
Lively  as  she  wTould  fain  appear,  her  replies  are  fre 
quently  mechanical  and  absent-minded.  So  that  Abel 
hardly  knows  whether  he  ought  to  feel  gratified,  or 
view  her  behavior  with  suspicion. 

But  she  lisps  no  syllable  of  a  wish  for  money.  He 
therefore  concludes  that  what  he  said  to  her  at  noon  has 
produced  a  salutary  effect.  She  evidently  regrets  her 
late  extravagance  and  unreasonableness;  means  to  be  a 
better  wife  to  him  than  she  has  been;  and  is  now  trying- 
hard  to  appear  contented  with  her  lot.  Kegarding  in 
this  light  the  part  she  is  playing,  he  can  well  forgive  her 
for  overdoing  it.  And  once  more  he  hopes  —  as  he  has 
so  often  vainly  hoped  before  —  that  happier  days  are  at 
hand.  Alas,  Abel ! 

Faustina  cannot  help  starting  and  losing  her  color, 
when  she  hears  any  noise  without.  Visions  of  the 
affrighted  cooper,  of  Prudence,  furious  at  the  loss  of  her 


88  Neighbors'  Wives. 

money,  rise  before  her  at  every  slight  sound.  Turk, 
knocking  at  the  door  with  his  wishfully-wagging  tail,  as 
he  waits  to  be  let  in,  makes  her  heart  sink.  And  now 
footsteps  actually  approaching  take  her  very  breath 
away. 

It  is  Mr.  Hodge,  come  to  have  his  settlement  with 
Abel.    She  is  glad  it  is  not  somebody  else.     Yet  his 
presence  disturbs  her;    for   now  the  money  is  to   be., 
counted,  and  change  hands,  and  she  dreads  she  knows 
not  what.    Her  hand  shakes  so  that  she  puts  the  candle 
out  when  she  goes  to  snuff  it.    She  lights  it  with  a  match,  * 
and  then  blows  the  candle  out  instead  of  the  match, 
which  burns  her  fingers.     Fortunately,  Mr.  Hodge  and 
Abel  are  talking  and  do  not  observe  her. 

The  settlement  takes  place  in  the  sitting-room.  There 
she  leaves  the  candle  with  Abel  and  the  visitor,  and  pre 
tends  to  return  to  the  kitchen,  but  finds  some  excuse  to 
linger  at  the  door  and  listen. 

"  "Well,"  exclaimed  Abel,  looking  over  his  money,  "  I 
didn't  know  I  had  a  bill  on  the  Manville  Bank  !  I  had  a 
fifty-dollar  bill  —  but  —  it's  curious  !  I  should  think  I'd 
have  noticed  it." 

"  One  bill  is  as  good  as  another,  if  the  banks  are  good 
and  the  bills  genuine,"  carelessly  observes  the  merchant. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  don't  see  how  I  could  have  that  bill  in 
my  possession,  and  not  know  it,"  says  the  puzzled  Abel, 
while  Faustina's  heart  throbs  suffocatingly. 

"  If  you  handled  as  much  money  as  I  do,"  replies 
Hodge,  "  you  couldn't  always  think  of  keeping  the  run 


Faustina's  Suspense.  89 

of  it."  And  the  conversation  turns  upon  other  matters. 
Faustina  is  faint. 

Hodge  soon  after  took  his  departure,  which  now 
proved  as  serious  a  cause  of  disturbance  to  Faustina  as 
his  coming  had  been;  for  he  carried  away  with  him  the 
irrevocable  bank-note,  to  which  his  attention  had  been 
drawn  in  such  a  manner  that  he  could  not  fail  to  re 
member  and  trace  it  back  to  Abel,  in  case  any  trouble 
came  of  it  in  future.  She  had  fondly  imagined  that,  as 
soon  as  the  money  was  out  of  her  husband's  hands,  her 
mind  would  be  at  rest.  But  there  is  no  rest  for  the 
guilty  conscience.  Half  the  night  she  lay  tormenting 
herself  with  fears  of  detection;  while  Abel,  for  the  first 
time  in  weeks,  slept  tranquilly  at  her  side.  Then  she 
also  slept,  and  dreamed  that  Mrs.  Apjohn's  apron  was  a 
huge  bank-bill,  and  that  it  contained,  in  place  of  toma 
toes,  several  red  and  bleeding  hearts,  one  of  which  was 
hers  and  one  Abel's.  She  thought  that  she  and  Tasso 
were  waiting  for  Mrs.  Apjohn  to  fall  asleep,  in  order 
that  they  might  unlock  the  lid  of  the  apron,  and  steal 
her  heart  out  of  it,  which  they  had  just  succeeded  in 
doing,  and  were  running  away  with  it,  when  she  — 
Faustina,  not  Mrs.  Apjohn  — awoke. 

There  was  a  loud  knocking  below ;  Abel  was  bestir 
ring  himself;  and  presently  Melissa  screamed  at  their 
chamber-door,  — 

"  Mr.  Dane  !  Mr.  Dane  !  here's  Mr.  Apjohn  wants 
to  see  you  !  "  $ 

"Wei],  well;  I'm  coming,"  answered  Abel.     "What 

8* 


9°  Neighbors'   Wives. 

can  the  cooper  want,  making  such  a  racket  this  time  of 
day  ?  " 

It  was  just  daylight.  Abel,  half-dressed,  hastened  to 
the  door,  where  the  cooper  met  him,  with  a  face  as  white 
as  chalk  and  eyes  starting  from  his  head. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Apjohn,"  said  Abel.  "  What's 
the  news  this  morning  ?  " 

"  I'm  a  ruined  man  I "  said  the  cooper,  with  grief, 
despair,  and  bitter  reproach  in  his  tones;  "  and  it's  you 
that  *has  ruined  me." 


Tasso's  Revenge.  91 


XI. 

TASSO'S    REVENGE. 

WHILST  Abel  is  drawing  the  poor  man  into  the  house 
and  getting  from  him  his  story,  and  whilst  Faustina, 
having  overheard  the  alarming  outburst  at  the  door,  is 
quaking  with  consternation,  and  trying  in  vain  to 
harden  her  heart  with  indifference  and  stubbornness, 
it  is  necessary  to  go  back  a  few  hours  in  our  narrative, 
and  relate  how  John  Apjohn  came  to  be  knocking  at 
Abel  Dane's  kitchen  in  the  gray  morning. 

Prudence,  on  her  way  home  from  the  village  with  her 
purchases  the  previous  afternoon,  had  encountered  Tas- 
so  Smith,  walking  up  and  down  by  the  meeting-house 
green.  Tasso  was  waiting  for  Faustina,  and  impatient 
at  her  failure  to  keep  the  engagement.  He  had  some 
more  of  his  friend's  jewelry  to  show  her,  in  case  she  had 
succeeded  in  borrowing  more  than  fifty  dollars  of  Mrs. 
Apjohn.  At  length  he  had  a  glimpse  of  a  female  figure 
approaching  by  the  young  elms  up  the  street.  That 
was  not  the  direction  from  which  he  expected  Faustina; 
but  he  concluded  that  she  had  gone  around  the  square, 
and  come  that  way  to  the  rendezvous,  in  order  to  avoid 
the  appearance  of  going  directly  to  meet  him.  He 


92  Neighbors'  Wives. 

turned  and  walked  back  slowly,  that  she  might  overtake 
him ;  when  with  mutual  surprise  they  would  recognize 
each  other,  and  walk  on  together.  He  had  his  face  made 
up  to  the  premeditated  expression;  he  lifted  his  hand  to 
his  hat  as  the  footsteps  came  beside  him,  and,  turning  with 
his  genteelest  bow  and  most  ravishing  smile,  saluted  — 
Mrs.  Apjohn  ! 

Did  you  ever,  when  a  child,  throw  a  chip  at  some  proud 
cock  of  the  walk,  just  as  he  was  stretching  up  his  neck 
and  beginning  to  crow  ?  The  jubilant,  shrill-swelling 
note  breaks  off  in  the  middle,  and  dies  in  a  miserable 
choking  croak;  the  loftily  curving  neck  and  haughty 
crimson  crest  are  suddenly  abashed;  down  sink  the  flap 
ping  wings;  and  chanticleer,  dodging  the  chip,  hops 
from  the  fence  to  the  ground,  humiliated  at  being  put  thus 
to  confusion  in  sight  of  the  admiring  pullets  and  envious 
young  cockerels,  before  whom  he  is  desirous  of  showing 
off. 

Such  a  bird  was  Tasso;  and  such  a  chip  the  look  Pru 
dence  Apjohn  gave  him.  It  was  too  ridiculous;  it  was 
exasperating:  instead  of  the  anticipated  smile  from 
Faustina,  a  sarcastic  sneer  from  that  hateful  woman ! 
Instead  of  the  beautiful  countenance,  that  great,  round 
russet  face  !  Instead  of  the  superb  form,  about  which 
there  was  such  a  grace  and  style,  an  immense,  waddling 
female  shape,  with  adipose  folds  rolling  over  the  tight- 
drawn  apron-string.  And  he  had  got  up  all  that  elabo 
rate  flourish,  put  on  his  sweetest  expression,  and  actual 
ly  touched  his  hat,  to  that  disgusting  creature  !  The 


Tasso's  Revenge.  93 

smile  petrified  on  his  lips.  His  waving  bow  broke, 
withered,  bore  no  fruit. 

"  'Scuse  me  !  "  he  muttered.  "  Thought  'twas  some- 
b'dy  else." 

"No  doubt  you  did  think  it  was  somebody  else  !  " 
answered  Prudence.  "You  wouldn't  have  took  sech 
pains  to  bend  your  back  and  look  sweet  to  me,  1  know  ! 
You  han't  liked  me  a  bit  sence  that  affair  of  changin' 
the  hunderd-dollar  bill  which  you  never  had,  —  come, 
now,  ain't  that  the  reason  ?  You  used  to  come  to  my 
house,  often  enough,  and  beg  a  doughnut,  or  a  piece  of 
gingerbread,  when  you  was  a  little  boy.  You  remem 
ber,  don't  ye  ?  You  used  to  sing  them  days.  Don't  ye 
remember  how  you  used  to  sing  ?  You'd  come  in  when 
we  was  to  supper;  I  can  see  you  now  in  that  ragged 
little  roundabout  you  wore,  all  grease  and  dirt;  hair 
wasn't  quite  so  slick  as  'tis  now,  for  if  it  see  a  brush  or  a 
comb  once  a  month  them  days,  'twas  a  wonder;  and 
you'd  commence  and  walk  round  the  table,  and  sing  that 
little  song  of  your'n,  — 

'  I  wish  I  had  soraethin'  to  eat, 
I  wish  I  had  somethin*  to  eat.'  — 

Remember  it,  don't  ye  ?  " 

Tasso  remembered  it  only  too  well ;  and  he  could 
have  throttled  Mrs.  Apjohn  for  remembering  it  too. 

"  Many's  the  doughnut  you've  had  to  my  house,  and 
welcome,"  she  resumed.  "  I  never'd  refuse  even  a  beg 
gar  't  I  never  see  before,  —  much  less  a  neighbor's  boy 


94  Neighbors-    Wives. 

that  never  seemed  to  have  enough  to  eat  to  hum.  I  don't 
say  this  'cause  I've  anything  laid  up  ag'inst  ye ;  only  to 
remind  you  't  I've  always  been  your  friend,  and  never 
give  you  no  reason,  as  I  know  on,  to  act  so  insolent 
towards  me  as  you  do  lately.  You  think  j^ou're  a  gen 
tleman,  Tasso  Smith;  but  you  ought  to  know  that 
wearin'  Sunday-clo'es  every  day,  and  them  mustawshy 
things  on  your  upper  lip,  and  that  great,  danglin'  watch- 
chain,  and  struttin'  up  and  down  when  you  should  be 
helpin'  your  pa  git  a  livin',  and  sayin'  to  a  woman  like 
me,  after  bowin'  to  her  by  mistake,  O/i,  you  thought 
'twas  somebody  else  !  —  so  insultin'  !  —  this  kind  o'  con 
duct  don't  make  a  gentleman,  and  you  ought  to  know 
it.  If  you  was  re'ly  a  gentleman  now,  you'd  ofler  to 
carry  some  of  these  bundles,  seein'  you're  goin'  the 
same  way  I  am." 

"Much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Tasso;  "I  turn  off 
here."  And  he  took  a  by-street,  returning  to  the  meet 
ing-house,  while  Prudence  trudged  along  home. 

Stung  to  fury,  —  burning  for  revenge,  —  he  parted 
from  her  with  a  white  smile.  A  generous  soul  would 
either  have  forgiven  her  on  the  spot  or  have  answered 
her  on  the  spot.  But  his  was  one  of  your  grovelling  and 
cowardly  natures.  He  preferred  a  secret  and  safe  re 
venge,  to  an  open  one  that  might  expose  him  to  danger. 
Besides,  he  saw  an  advantage  in  postponing  his  resent 
ment  on  this  occasion.  He  felt  that  he  held  in  his  hand 
a  weapon  that  would  have  annihilated  the  strong,  plain- 
speaking  woman.  As  David  slew  the  Philistine  with  a 


Tasso's  Revenge.  95 

pebble,  so  he  could  have  brought  Prudence  low  with  a 
tomato.  He  longed  to  suggest  that  she  was  hardly  a  fit 
person  to  give  lessons  in  good  behavior,  who  furtively 
filled  her  apron  in  her  neighbor's  garden.  But  that 
would  take  the  wind  out  of  Faustina's  sails,  he  reflected; 
for  what  would  her  threats  of  exposure  avail  with  Pru 
dence,  if  the  latter  knew  that,  her  fault  was  already 
published  ?  "  After  Faustina  has  got  the  money, 
then  !  " — and  he  walked  back  towards  the  church,  pon 
dering  an  ingenious  revenge. 

Home  went  the  unsuspecting  Prudence  in  the  mean 
time,  unlocked  the  house,  took  off  her  things,  and  put 
on  the  tea-kettle.  She  had  cheated  John  and  herself 
out  of  a  dinner  that  day;  and  she  was  going  to  have 
supper  early.  The  cooper,  cold  and  starved  as  usual, 
came  in  just  as  she  was  blowing  ashes  and  smoke  into 
her  face  and  eyes,  trying  to  kindle  a  smouldering  brand 
and  save  a  match. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  want,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  "  she 
cried,  naturally  cross  under  the  circumstances.  "  Sup 
per  '11  git  along  jest  as  fast  without  you,  and  a  little 
faster."  (Blow,  blow.)  "  Musn't  bother  me  now." 
(Blow,  blow,  blow.)  "  Hateful  smoke  !  And  I've  got 
my  mouth  full  of  ashes.  I  do  declare  !  why  can't  the 
pleggy  thing  kindle  ?  " 

"  Shan't  I  blow  ?  "  said  the  meek  cooper. 

"  You  !  ther's  no  more  breath  in  you  than  there  is  in 
my  shoe  !  I  wish  you'd  stay  in  the  shop.  How  I  do 
hate  to  have  a  man  nosin'  around  !  " 


96  Neighbors'  Wives. 

u  To  be  sure  !  to  be  sure  ! "  answered  John,  more 
melancholy  and  submissive  than  ever  since  the  affair  of 
the  tomatoes.  "  I  haven't  got  a  right  to  come  into  my 
own  house,  I  suppose.  But  I  was  gitt'n'  hungry. 
Haven't  had  anything  but  a  crust  to  eat  sence  mornin'. 
But  never  mind."  And  he  turned  up  his  eyes  with  a 
resigned  expression. 

"Guess  you  won't  starve;  it's  only  a  quarter-past 
two."  Blow,  blow,  —  smoke,  ashes,  blow. 

"  Prudy  !  "  remonstrated  John,  in  a  feeble,  dejected 
way,  "  it  was  two  o'clock  before  I  come  home ;  and  that 
was  an  hour  ago." 

"  Jest  look  at  the  clock  there.  If  you  won't  believe 
your  ears,  maybe  you  will  your  eyes." 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure  !  "  said  the  cooper,  in  mild 
astonishment.  "  But,  Prudy  !  Prudy  !  that  clock  has 
stopped  I  " 

True  enough;  wThen  Faustina  replaced  the  key  of  the 
chest,  she  had  touched  the  pendulum  unwittingly,  and 
the  pointers  remained  fixed  at  the  minute  when  the 
larceny  was  consummated. 

"  Massy  sakes  !  so  it  has  !  and  it  may  have  been  stop 
ped  an  hour,  fur's  I  know.  You  didn't  wind  it  up  last 
night;  jest  like  your  carelessness,  John  Apjohn  !  " 

But  John  demonstrated  to  her,  l>y  the  position  of  the 
weights,  that  the  clock  had  not  run  down.  And  he 
seemed  to  consider  the  mysterious  circumstance  as  the 
forerunner  of  some  dire  chance. 

"  It  never  done  sich  a  thing  afore,  Prudy;  it  never  done 
sich  a. thing1  afore." 


Tasso's  jRevenge.  97 

"  Wai !  "  —  contemptuously  —  "I  wouldn't  be  so  scart 
by  a  little  trifle  like  the  stoppin'  of  a  clock  !  Here's 
the  chist-key  all  right.  And  now,  while  I'm  puttin' 
away  my  things,  and  the  fire's  kindlin',  you  run  over 
to  Abel's  and  see  what  time  it  is." 

The  cooper  only  groaned  and  shook  his  head.  Not 
even  his  wife's  energetic  wishes  could  induce  him  to  face 
one  of  the  Dane  family,  after  his  last  humiliating  errand 
to  their  garden. 

"  Wai,  now,  I  wouldn't  be  so  sheepish  !  I  ain't  goin' 
to  let  that  thing  trouble  me.  I'll  hold  up  my  head, 
while  I've  got  one;  and  let  folks  put  upon  me,  if  they 
da's't  !  I  give  that  Tasso  Smith  a  piece  of  my  mind,  as 
I  was  comin'  home.  He  mustn't  think  he's  goin'  to 
have  over  his  impudence  to  me,  and  not  git  as  good  as 
he  gives.  I  sa}r  for't,  John  Apjohn  !  "  opening  the  chest, 
to  lay  her  shawl  into  it,  "  you  shan't  come  to  this  chist 
at  all  if  you've  always  got  to  tumble  it  up  so,  —  now  jest 
look  here  !  You  shall  keep  your  shirts  in  the  ketchall, 
and  never  come  near  my  things,  if  you  can't  be  a  little 
more  careful." 

In  vain  the  cooper  protested  that  he  had  not  opened 
the  chest.  Who  had,  if  he  hadn't,  she  desired  to  know. 

"  To  be  sure  !  "  he  answered,  helplessly,  the  evidence 
being  against  him.  "  I  must  have  done  it  in  my  sleep, 
though." 

"  I  say,  in  your  sleep  !  You're  never  more'n  half 
awake.  You  han't  touched  the  money,  have  you  ?  I 
ain't  goin'  to  have  that  touched,  till  we  buy  two  more 
9 


98  Neighbors'    Wives. 

railroad  shares  with  it  and  what  Mr.  Parker  will  be  pay- 
in'  us  now  in  a  few  days.  I  run  in  debt  for  the  things 
I  got  to-day,  for  fear  we  might  fall  short,  and  I'm  very 
anxious  to  have  the  shares,  and  put  the  money  out  of 
our  hands,  and  have  it  bringin'  in  somethin'." 

Then,  having  unlocked  the  till,  to  see  that  the  pocket- 
book  was  there,  she  locked  it  again,  and  returned  to  the 
kitchen.  The  smoke  had  "by  this  time  got  out  of  her 
eyes;  the  tea-kettle  was  simmering,  and  her  heart,  too, 
began  to  simmer  cheerfully.  She  told  John  about  her 
purchases,  whilst  she  was  setting  the  table;  the  pork 
was  soon  fried  and  the  potatoes  warmed  up;  and  they 
sat  down  to  supper.  They  had  no  tomatoes  that 
night.  Indeed,  John  had  lost  his  appetite  for  toma 
toes,  and  Prudence  herself  was  not  very  fond  of  them 
lately. 

The  cooper  felt  lost  without  the  time.  He  was  afraid 
they  might  not  go  to  bed  at  just  eight  o'clock,  and  seemed 
to  think  something  dreadful  would  happen  if  they  failed 
in  that  important  particular.  And  then,  how  would 
they  ever  know  when  to  get  up  in  the  morning  ?  These 
doubts  so  harassed  the  poor  man's  mind,  that  he  lay 
awake  half  of  the  night,  and  heard  robbers  around  the 
house,  and  was  out  of  bed  at  four  o'clock,  with  a  candle 
in  his  hand,  looking  for  daylight  and  burglars. 

"  I  guess  if  there'd  been  anybody  around  I  should 
have  heard  'em  as  soon  as  you  would,"  said  Prudence. 
"  I  don't  care  half  so  much  about  the  thieves  as  I  do 
about  the  taller  you're  burnin'  out  with  your  narvous- 


Tassels  Revenge.  99 

ness.  Come,  either  dress  ye  or  conie  back  to  bed  agin. 
I  don't  think  it's  much  after  midnight,  anyway." 

But  John  is  so  sure  of  the  noises  he  has  heard  during 
the  night,  that  he  cannot  be  easy  till  he  has  opened  the 
door  and  looked  out.  It  is  a  still,  cold  morning.  The 
earth  is  hushed  and  dark;  the  east  is  scarcely  yet  tinged 
with  the  dawn ;  overhead  the  constellations  glitter. 
Hesperus  stands  with  golden  candle  in  the  dim  doorway 
of  the  world,  and  looks  down  upon  John  Apjohn  stand 
ing  with  tallow  dip  in  the  doorway  of  his  humble 
kitchen.  In  the  northern  sky,  Cassiopeia  and  the  Bear 
are  having  their  eternal  see-saw,  balanced  on  the  Pole. 
The  cooper  beholds  and  wonders,  for  the  vastness  and 
silence  and  majesty  of  the  night  have  a  meaning  for  the 
soul  of  this  man  also. 

Forgetful  of  the  burglars,  heedless  of  the  flaring  and 
dripping  candle,  he  stands  in  his  shirt  and  trousers, 
agaze  at  the  heavens.  An  astounding  circumstance  re 
calls  him  to  himself.  Something  is  dangling  at  the 
door.  He  feels  to  ascertain  what  it  is,  —  advances  the 
candle,  —  utters  one  stifled  cry  of  dismay,  and  retreats 
into  the  house,  horrified. 

"  John  Apjohn  !  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  demands  Pru 
dence,  rushing  to  his  side  in  her  night-clothes. 

He  cannot  speak,  but  he  points;  he  helplessly  holds 
the  candle,  to  call  her  attention  to  an  object  which  he 
has  partially  dragged  into  the  house,  and  let  fall  across 
the  threshold. 

"  Sakes  alive  !  what  is  it  ?    Where  did  you  find  it  ? 


ioo  Neighbors'  Wives. 

Vines  1  What  under  the  sun  ?  Tomatuses  !  "  And 
the  terrible  significance  of  the  symbol  burst  upon  her, 
too. 

Tasso  was  revenged. 

"  To  be  sure  !  to  be  sure  !  to  be  sure  !  "  were  the  only 
words  the  miserable  cooper  could  utter,  as  he  stared  at 
the  portent. 

But  Prudence,  more  resolute,  pulled  the  vines  from 
the  outer  door-handle  to  which  they  were  attached,  and 
finding  a  piece  of  paper  pinned  to  them,  took  it  off,  and 
held  it  to  the  light.  It  bore  the  following  inscription: 

"  For  Mrs.  Apjohri's  apern." 

She  spelled  it  out,  aloud,  as  she  deciphered  it.  If 
Cooper  John  had  any  strength  remaining  up  to  this 
time,  it  was  now  taken  from  him,  and  he  sat  down  shiv 
ering  on  the  cold  stove.  Mrs.  Apjohn  also  succumbed 
to  the  chirographical  thunder-bolt,  and  went  down 
upon  the  wood-box,  with  all  her  burden  of  flesh. 
The  light  she  placed  on  a  chair;  the  trail  of  vegetables 
variegated  the  floor ;  in  her  hand  she  still  held  the  mis 
sive.  And  there  the  twain  sat,  in  a  long  and  very  awful 
silence,  —  a  scene  for  a  Dutch  painter. 

"  Wai !  "  said  Prudence,  as  soon  as  she  could  regain 
her  powers  of  respiration  and  utterance,  "  I  hope  that's 
mean  enough,  anyway !  That's  Abel  Dane's  work, 
John  !  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  no  !  Abel  Dane  wouldn't  do  sich  a  thing 
as  that,"  moaned  the  cooper. 

"  So  much  the  wus,  then  !    If  he  didn't  do  it,  he  has 


Tasso's  Revenge.  101 

told  somebody;  and  didn't  he  promise  never  to  tell  ? 
And  which  is  the  wust  for  us,  I'd  like  to  know,  —  to  have 
him  insult  us  in  this  way,  or  tell  all  over  town,  and  send 
somebody  else  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  !  to  be  sure  !  "  The  stricken  man  took 
the  paper  from  her  hand,  and  held  it  to  the  light  to  study 
it.  "  A,  j>,  e,  r,  n,  apern  I  It  is  somebody  that  knows 
how  to  spell,  Prudy;  it's  somebody  that  knows  how  to 
spell !  "  And  he  turned  to  his  wife  with  the  air  of  one 
who  has  made  an  appalling  discovery. 

Like  most  ignorant  men  who  have  a  large  element  of 
wonder  in  their  nature,  he  stood  greatly  in  awe  of  learn 
ing;  and  he  naturally  thought  that  if  the  vicious  joke  had 
been  perpetrated  by  some  blockhead,  whose  orthographi 
cal  attainments  were  not  equal  to  the  spelling  of  opera, 
it  would  not  be  so  bad. 

"  It's  Abel  Dane,  or  he's  to  the  bottom  on't,  take  my 
word  I "  said  Prudence,  with  mingled  chagrin  and  ex 
asperation.  "  Oh,  the  smooth-spoken,  desaitful  wretch  ! 
He  never'd  have  da's't  to  do  it  if  I'd  had  a  man  for  a 
husband  !  Oh,  it's  too  mean  !  too  mean ! "  and  the 
worthy  woman  burst  into  tears  of  anger  and  shame. 

Suddenly  the  cooper  started  to  his  feet. 

"  I'll  know  the  truth  of  it,  Prudy  !  I'll  see  Abel,  and 
know  the  truth.  If  it's  all  over  town,  we  may  as  well 
go  and  jump  into  the  well  fust  as  last;  for  what'll  be 
the  use  of  tryin'  to  live  where  everybody'll  be  pintin' 
at  us  and  hootin'  ?  " 

"  I'll  live  to  be  even  with  Abel  Dane  !  "  vowed  Pru- 
9* 


102  Neighbors'  Wives. 

dence.  "  I  shan't  think  of  dyin'  till  I've  come  up  with 
him  !  Oh-h  !  you'll  see  !  "  (through  her  teeth).  "  If 
he  hadn't  been  so  'ily-tongued  and  ready  to  promise,  I 
wouldn't  mind.  Goin'  right  over  now  ?  That's  right. 
Show  your  spunk  for  once,  John.  But  put  on  your  hat, 
—  put  on  your  hat,  and  your  jacket,  too." 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure ! "  murmured  John,  con 
fusedly  turning  round  and  round,  till  at  last  he  got  hold 
of  the  table-cloth  instead  of  his  jacket,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  donning  the  skillet  in  place  of  his  hat. 

"Don't  you  know  what  you're  about?"  said  Pru 
dence,  putting  her  hand  on  her  knee  and  helping  herself 
to  get  upon  her  feet,  which  ponderous  operation  was 
performed  with  considerable  more  alacrity  than  usual. 
"  Here's  your  hat."  She  clapped  it  on  his  head.  Then  she 
opened  his  jacket  for  him  to  get  into.  "  Here,  stick  out 
your  arms  !  "  And,  having  thus  equipped  him  as  if  he 
were  a  knight  of  old  and  these  coverings  his  armor  and 
coat-of-inail,  she  sent  him  to  meet  the  foe.  "  Look  out 
for  that  pesky  dog  ! "  she  counselled  him  as  he  sallied 
forth. 

The  earth,  that  slept  tinder  the  night's  dark  blanket 
and  spangled  coverlet,  was  now  throwing  them  off  and 
putting  on  her  glorious  morning-gown.  Dim  in  its 
socket  nickered  the  candle  of  the  watcher  Hesperus,  his 
feet  on  a  threshold  of  silver.  Immortal  youth  and 
freshness  breathed  in  the  atmosphere  like  a  finer  air. 
Music  awoke  with  beauty,  the  birds  twittered,  and  the 
cock  blew  his  bugle  in  the  misty  tent  of  dawn.  But 


Tasso's  Revenge.  103 

what  was  the  joy  of  sight  and  sound  and  honeyed  taste 
of  life  to  Cooper  John  Apjohn,  rushing  to  his  neighbor's 
on  such  desperate  business  ?  What  to  Faustina,  peeping 
wildly  from  the  window,  were  the  crimson  sleeves  and 
refulgent,  rosy  scarf  of  mother  earth  at  her  dewy  toilet  ? 
Alas,  for  mortal  man  !  Daily  the  harmonious  doors  of 
the  museum  and  picture-gallery  of  God  open  to  invite 
us ;  nor  is  wanting  the  mystic  key  by  night,  which  un 
locks  them  again  to  the  wise;  and  there,  in  celestial 
livery,  with  star-torches,  attendants  wait  to  guide  us 
among  the  white  and  awful  forms  of  contemplation,  as 
the  pope's  servitors  show,  by  the  light  of  flambeaus, 
the  statuary  of  the  Vatican.  But  we  are  hurrying  to 
market  or  to  mill,  chasing  pleasure,  or  pursued  by  fear, 
absorbed  in  calculations  of  profit  and  loss,  or  preoccu 
pied  by  shame  and  heart-ache,  —  the  hat  of  vulgar  habit 
slouched  over  the  eyes,  —  so  that  glimpses  of  the  shining 
vestibule  and  perfect  pageant  do  not  reach  and  win  the 
soul. 


104  Neighbors'    Wives. 


XII. 

THE   GUILTY  CONSCIENCE. 

AFTER  the  cooper  entered,  Faustina  drew  back  from 
her  window,  and  waited,  scared  and  palpitating,  for  the 
expected  catastrophe.  It  did  not  come.  The  sitting- 
room  door  closed  upon  the  voices  of  Cooper  John  and 
her  husband;  and  now  all  was  still.  Her  guilty  and  im 
patient  spirit  tormented  itself  with  conjectures;  and  she 
stood  with  brows  knitted  and  lips  apart,  wringing  her 
thoughts  for  some  drop  of  certainty  regarding  the  ob 
ject  of  their  neighbor's  early  visit,  when  Melissa  ran  to 
the  door  and  rapped. 

"  Mrs.  Dane,  you're  wanted  !  " 

The  summons  went  to  the  wretched  woman's  heart. 
So  the  hour  had  arrived,  and  she  was  to  be  arraigned 
and  accused. 

"  Melissa  !  "  she  whispered,  "  come  in  !  —  What  is 
it  ?  " 

"  That's  more'n  I  know,  ma'am.  But  Mr.  Apjohn  's 
in  a  terrible  way;  and  it  seems  it's  something  you've 
done." 

"  I  ?  What  ?  What  have  I  done  ?  "  And  poor  Faus 
tina  catches  hold  of  the  girl's  arm,  as  if  she  meant  to 


The  Guilty  Conscience.  105 

hold  her  till  she  hears  the  truth.  "  "What  have  I  done, 
Melissa  ?  " 

"  That  you  know  best,  ma'am.  Mr.  Dane  says  come 
quick.  Shall  I  help  you  ?  "  offering  to  assist  in  dress 
ing  her  mistress. 

"  I  don't  know  —  O  Melissa  !  —  if  I  dared  to  tell  you  I 
How  do  they  know  it  was  me  ?  " 

"  You  went  into  Mr.  Apjohn's  house  yesterday,  when 
they  wa'n't  to  home,  and  mabby  that's  it,"  suggested 
Melissa,  thinking  to  throw  a  little  light  on  the  subject. 

""  I  did  ?  —  How  dare  you  say  I  did,  you  wicked  girl !  " 
shaking  her. 

"Why,  I  seen  ye  !"  says  the  innocent  and  amazed 
Melissa.  "  But  I  didn't  think  there  was  any  harm  in 
it." 

"  Did  you  tell  any  one  ?  Did  anybody  else  see  ?  Tell 
me  the  truth,  Melissa  !  " 

"  No  !  not  as  I  know  on.     I  hain't  mentioned  it." 

"  Don't  you,  then  !  not  fbr  your  life.  I'll  give  you 
that  watered  silk  —  I'll  get  Abel  to  raise  your  wages  — 
you  shall  have  those  satin  shoes  you  like  so.  O  Me 
lissa  !  I'll  be  the  best  friend  you  ever  had,  if  you'll  stand 
by  me." 

"Why,  ma'am!"  —  the  girl  opened  her  honest  eyes 
betwixt  delight  and  incredulity  at  these  extravagant 
promises,  —  "I'll  stand  by  ye,  and  be  thankful;  but 
what  dreadful  thing  is't  you've  been  and  done  ?  " 

"  Melissa  ! "  said  the  unhappy  woman,  eager  to  gain 
the  sympathy  and  counsel  of  some  one,  no  matter  if  it 


io6  Neighbors'  Wives. 

was  only  her  servant,  "promise  me  never  to  lisp  the 
secret  so  long  as  you  live  !  " 

Melissa,  who  had  suffered  enough  from  the  capricious 
pride  and  temper  of  her  mistress,  was  glad  of  an  oppor 
tunity  to  establish  more  confidential  and  friendly  rela 
tions  between  them.  To  promise,  secrecy  is  easy;  and 
she  promised. 

"  Swear  it  I  "  said  Faustina,  like  the  heroine  of  a  mel 
odrama.  "  Put  your  hand  on  this  Bible,  and  swear ! 
Say,  I  swear  a  solemn  oath  "  — 

"  I  swear  a  solemn  oath  I  "  repeated  the  staring  Me 
lissa. 

"  Never  to  breathe  to  any  mortal  soul "  — 

"  Never  to  breathe  to  any  mortal  soul "  — 

"  What  I  am  going  to  tell  you." 

"  What  I  am  going  to  tell  you." 

"  Now  kiss  the  book." 

Melissa  smacked  the  leather.  Then  Faustina  poured 
forth  her  story. 

"  But  I  didn't  steal  the  money;  I  meant  it  for  Borrow 
ing,  true  as  I  live,  Melissa.  But  won't  it  seem  like  steal 
ing  ?  And  now  they  have  found  it  out,  —  oh,  what  shall 
I  do  ?  What  would  you  do,  Melissa?  " 

"La,  ma'am!"  said  Melissa,  with  unaffected  concern, 
"  I  don't  know  !  Seems  to  me  I  should  go  and  tell  'em 
I  only  borrowed  it,  and  meant  to  pay  it  back." 

"  It's  too  late  !  "  Faustina  shook  her  head  and  com 
pressed  her  lips.  "  I  shouldn't  care  for  the  Apjohns,  if 
'twasn't  for  my  husband.  What  will  he  say  ?  Melissa, 


The  Guilty  Conscience.  107 

I  shall  deny  it.  And  you  must  bear  me  out  in  it.  Oh, 
dear!  there's  Abel  calling,  and  I  must  go.  Am  I  very 
pale  ? "  And  she  turned  to  the  glass,  and  put  her 
knuckle  into  her  fair  cheek,  which  whitened  under  the 
pressure. 

"  No,  you  look  red,"  said  Melissa. 

"  Do  I  ?  I  mustn't  appear  agitated.  I  won't  I  There  ! " 
with  sudden  resolution,  putting  on  a  haughty  and  brazen 
air,  "  I  am  not  going  to  be  afraid.  —  Remember,  Melissa, 
—  the  watered  silk  and  the  shoes  ! " 

Little  Ebby  had  been  crying  unheeded  for  the  last  five 
minutes.  Melissa  remained  to  take  care  of  him,  while 
Faustina,  trembling  and  faint-hearted  in  spite  of  her  ef 
fort  to  seem  unconcerned,  went  to  the  dreaded  interview. 

The  cooper  was  sitting  with  his  feet  upon  the  chair- 
round,  brooding  dejectedly  over  his  knees;  and  Abel 
was  endeavoring  to  soothe  and  reassure  him,  when  she 
entered. 

"  Here  she  is,"  said  Abel.  John  lifted  his  colorless  and 
woe-begone  countenance.  "  Faustina,  neighbor  Apjohn 
brings  a  serious  charge  against  us ;  and  I  want  you  to 
clear  yourself  from  it,  if  you  are  innocent." 

He  spoke  earnestly.  He  was  convinced  of  her  guilt, 
she  thought.  She  did  not  answer,  but  looked  down  as 
coldly  as  she  could  at  the  cooper,  who  looked  up  ag 
grieved  and  disconsolate  at  her. 

u  I  wouldn't  have  supposed,"  said  John,  with  an  affect 
ing  quaver  in  his  voice,  "  that  a  lady  like  you  could  do 
sich  a  thing,  Have  I  ever  done  you  any  harm  ?  " 


io8  Neighbors'  Wives. 

"No,  Mr.  Apjohn,"  replied  Faustina.  "Who  said 
you  had  ?  And  what  have  I  done  to  you  ?  " 

"  Done  !  What  have  you  done  !  To  be  sure  !  to  be 
sure !  O  Mrs.  Dane,  I  hope  you  may  never  suffer 
as  you  have  made  me.  To  be  robbed  of  the  hard  earn 
ings  of  years,  —  that  would  be  nothing,  but "  — 

"  Robbed  ! "  interrupted  Faustina,  feigning  surprise, 
"  who  has  robbed  you,  Mr.  Apjohn  ?  " 

"  Who  has,  if  you  have  not  ?  And  sich  a  robbery  ! 
Not  gold  or  silver  !  "  sobbed  the  poor  man,  thinking  of 
his  good  name  gone  forever. 

"  Gold  ?  silver  ?  "  cried  Faustina.  "  I  haven't  touched 
your  gold  and  silver.  Not  a  dollar  of  it.  Who  says  I 
have?" 

"  It  isn't  gold  or  silver  I've  lost,"  said  John,  moan 
ing,  as  he  brooded  over  his  knees.  "  Gold  and  silver, — 
no  !  no  !  "  And  he  shook  his  sorrowful  head. 

"  I  haven't  touched  your  paper-money,  either  !  "  cried 
Faustina,  assuming  an  indignant  air.  "  How  should  I 
know  you  had  any  ?  You  might  keep  thousands  of  dol 
lars  in  your  house,  and  I  never  should  know  it;  and  I 
never  should  care.  But  you  mustn't  come  here  accusing 
me  of  breaking  into  your  house,  and  stealing  the  money 
you  have  been  hoarding  up,  while  you  have  passed  for 
poor  people  with  your  neighbors.  No,  John  Apjohn  ! 
And  I  shouldn't  think  it  was  for  you  to  charge  others 
with  stealing,  any  way.  If  you  live  in  glass  houses, 
you  mustn't  throw  stones.  I  warn  you,  Mr.  Apjohn  !  " 

This  vehement  speech  produced  a  strange  effect  upon 


The  Guilty  Conscience.  109 

her  audience.  The  cooper  raised  himself  gradually  upon 
his  elbows,  then  sat  bolt  upright  in  his  chair,  regarding 
her  with  vague  and  helpless  wonder.  Abel  fixed  upon 
her  an  expression  of  severe  disapprobation,  believing  that 
this  vociferous  denial  of  an  offence  with  which  she  had 
not  been  charged,  was  only  a  feint  to  parry  the  real 
point  at  issue. 

"  These  are  useless  words,  Faustina,"  he  said.  "  "What 
do  they  mean  ?  " 

"  Useless  words  ! "  she  echoed;  "  what  do  they  mean  !  " 
Flushed  with  passion,  and  chafing  violently,  she  turned 
upon  him.  "  You,  Abel  Dane  !  my  husband  !  YOU  ! 
would  have  me  stand  here  and  listen  tamely  to  an  insult 
from  this  man  !  I,  guilty  of  purloining  money  from  his 
till !  And  you  credit  it !  Oh,  it  is  too  much  !  "  And 
she  swept  across  the  room,  flirting  out  her  folded  hand 
kerchief,  and  stanching  with  it  imaginary  tears . 

"  Faustina  !  "  cried  Abel,  amazed,  and  utterly  at  a  loss 
to  comprehend  her  conduct,  "  hear  me  a  moment.  I  said 
they  were  useless  words,  because  you  have  misunder 
stood  the  poor  man." 

"  To  be  sure  !  to  be  sure  !  "  broke  in  the  cooper,  sym 
pathizing  with  her  passion  and  distress, "  I  never  thought 
of  laying  such  a  thing  to  you,  Mrs.  Dane." 

"  Oh,  didn't  you  ?  "  she   retorted,  with  bitter  scorn. 

"  I  wonder  what  you  call  it  then.    You  'd  better  take  it 

back  !     If  you've  been  robbed,  I'm  sorry  for  it.     You 

shouldn't  keep  so  much  money  locked  up  in  your  chest, 

k  if  you  don't  want  to  invite  burglars.     They  broke  in  last 

10 


HO  Neighbor  £  Wives. 

night,  I  suppose.  You  must  have  slept  soundly  !  I'm 
sorry  for  you,"  she  went  on,  so  rapidly  that  neither  Abel 
nor  the  bewildered  cooper  could  put  in  a  word;  "but 
you  must  take  care  how  you  accuse  innocent  people. 
When  you  talk  of  robbing  neighbors,  look  at  home. 
What  if  I  should  accuse  ?  What  if  I  should  tell  about 
the  tomatoes  ?  Take  care,  then  !  " 

"Now  you  touch  upon  the  subject,"  said  Abel. 
"  Haven't  you  already  told  about  that  unfortunate 
affair  ?  " 

"  I  ?    No  !  "  replied  Faustina,  surprised. 

"  You  have  not  mentioned  or  hinted  it  to  any  one  ?  ?' 

"No!  truly!"  A  positive  denial;  though  she  had 
not  quite  forgotten  her  confidences  with  Tasso.  But 
this  was  only  a  white  lie,  she  thought,  and  necessary  to 
cover  the  black  one.  For,  in  order  to  hold  the  Apjohns 
in  awe  of  her  power,  they  must  believe  that  she  had  not 
yet  made  the  exposure  which,  of  course,  she  would 
make,  if  the  charge  of  robbing  them  was  persisted  in. 

"  There,  Mr.  Apjohn,"  said  Abel,  "  I  told  you  she 
would  clear  herself.  We  have  not  betrayed  you.  And 
you  may  be  assured  that  neither  of  us  would  stoop  to 
the  pitiful  device  of  insulting  you  in  the  way  you  com 
plain  of." 

The  cooper  only  groaned,  and  got  down  over  his  knees 
again,  in  an  attitude  of  the  deepest  despondency. 

"  So  much  the  wus,  then  !  as  Prudy  said.  Our  dis 
grace  is  known;  but  to  who  ?  and  how  many  ?  That's 
the  misery  on't !  "  And  he  buried  his  face. 


The  Guilty  Conscience.  m 

Faustina,  sobered  by  surprise,  and  unable  to  compre 
hend  the  cooper's  mysterious  trouble,  asked  an  explana 
tion. 

"Why,"  said  Abel,  "some  wretched  scamp  went  last 
night,  —  in  the  night,  wasn't  it  ?  "  he  asked,  to  divert 
John  Apjohn  from  his  gloom.  • 

"  Yes;  I  heerd  'em  around  the  house,"  said  the  cooper, 
to  the  relief  of  Faustina,  who  was  afraid  he  would  say, 
"  No,  it  was  in  the  afternoon,  when  we  were  gone  from 
home." 

"  Went  and  hung  some  tomato  vines  on  his  outside- 
door,  labelled,  '•For  Mrs.  Apjohn's  apem?  And  he 
thought  I  had  done  it,"  continued  Abel.  "And  when 
I  assured  him  I  had  not  only  not  done  it,  but  had  not 
told  anybody  but  you  of  the  little  mistake  his  wife  made 
in  getting  the  wrong  side  of  the  fence,  the  good  man 
thought  you  must  have  told  somebody  else,  or  have 
gone  yourself  and  left  the  tomato  vines." 

"  I  ?  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing  !  But  is  that 
—  is  that  —  all  ?  "  Faustina  eagerly  asked. 

"  All  ?  Ain't  it  enough  ?  "  said  the  cooper,  between 
his  knees. 

"  Why,  I  thought  —  dear  me  !  —  indeed  ! "  Faustina 
fluttered,  and  grew  wonderfully  smiling  and  affable  — 
"  you  haven't  been  robbed,  then  ?  "  I'm  so  glad  of  that ! 
How  could  I  have  misunderstood  ? "  Her  smiles  be 
came  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought.  What 
folly  had  she  given  utterance  to,  betraying  her  guilt, 
perhaps,  in  her  very  eagerness  to  deny  it  !  Still  she 


H2  Neighbors'  Wives. 

smiled.  "  I'm  sure,  Mr.  Apjohn,  you  don't  think  I  would 
go  and  hang  tomatoes  on  your  doors,  do  you  ?  " 

-  "  No  !  no  !  no  !  —  to  be  sure  !  to  be  sure  !  to  be  sure  I 
—  well !  well !  well ! "  He  rose  to  go,  looking  about 
him  like  one  whose  wits  are  slightly  damaged.  "  Did  I 
have  a  hat  ?  I  think  I  had  a  hat !  Thank  ye,  Abel.  A 
fine  morning,  a  very  fine  morning,  Mrs.  Dane,"  he  said, 
in  accents  which  foreboded  that  there  were  no  more  fine 
mornings  for  him  in  all  this  weary  world. 

He  bowed  with  feeble  politeness,  and,  after  trying  to 
get  into  the  closet,  found  his  way,  with  Abel's  assistance, 
to  the  outer  door.  Faustina  followed,  with  the  same 
forced  smiles,  and  strangely  shining  eyes. 

"  Good  morning,"  she  said  lightly.  "  A  pleasant  day 
to  you,  Mr.  Apjohn." 

"  You'll  excuse  me  for  troubling  you,"  said  the  cooper, 
from  out  the  dust  of  his  humiliation.  "I  —  I  wish  you 
well.  You're  both  young.  There's  happiness  for  you ; 
but  none  for' me  !  none  for  me  !  "  and  he  pulled  his  rue 
ful  hat  over  his  eyes. 

"Come,  come,  man!"  cried  Abel,  encouragingly; 
"  don't  take  it  too  much  to  heart.  Cheer  up,  cheer  up. 
If  the  matter  has  got  out,  never  mind  ;  it  will  soon 
be  forgotten;  you'll  live  it  down,  honest  man  as  you 
are.  I  wouldn't  mind  the  mean  insult  of  a  spy  and 
coward,  who  plays  his  tricks  in  the  dark,  and  dares  not 
show  his  face  by  daylight." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  you're  right,  Abel,  you're  right,  and  very 
kind.  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure.  I  hope  the  old  lady  is 


The  Guilty  Conscience.  113 

well  this  morning  !   I  hope  she  is  very  comfortable.    I 
hope — yes,  sincerely  —  I "  — 

He  faltered,  like  one  who  forgets  what  he  is  saying, 
stood  aimlessly  pondering  a  moment,  then,  suddenly 
catching  his  breath,  as  it  were  with  a  stitch  in  the  side 
of  his  memory,  he  blindly  waved  his  hand,  and,  without 
looking  up,  jogged  heavily  homewards. 
10* 


114  Neighbor  £  Wives. 


XIII. 

THE   SAD  CASE   OF  THE   COOPER. 

PRUDENCE  had  all  this  while  been  waiting  anxiously 
for  her  good-man's  return ;  wishing  a  hundred  times, 
in  her  impatience,  that  she  had  gone  herself  and  settled 
the  affair  with  Abel.  The  hour  of  John's  absence  was 
perhaps  the  longest  in  that  worthy  woman's  life.  The 
morning  twilight  was  never  so  provokingly  cool  and 
slow.  The  mists  were  in  no  hurry  to  lift  from  the  hills ; 
the  sun  took  his  time  to  rise,  just  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  "  I  shall  fly  !  "  she  repeatedly  informed  the 
deliberate  universe,  as  she  looked  over  towards  her 
neighbor's,  and  the  sluggish  wheel  of  time  brought  no 
sign  of  the  cooper's  coming. 

The  wings  were  not  yet  grown,  however,  with  which 
that  massy  female  was  to  perform  the  threatened  aerial 
excursion. .  She  was  by  no  means  a  volatile  animal.  The 
consequence  was,  that  when  at  last  John's  doleful  phys 
iognomy  appeared  coming  through  the  gate  (the  very 
posts  of  which  looked  solemn,  in  sympathy  with  him, 
and  seemed  to  squint  pathetically  at  each  other,  from 
under  their  wooden  caps,  as  he  passed),  the  solid  house 
wife  still  gravitated  as  near  the  planet  as  any  unfledged 
biped  on  its  surface. 


The  Sad  Case  of  the  Cooler.         115 

"  O  John  Apjohn  ! "  said  she,  reproachfully,  "  I've 
wanted  to  git  hold  of  you  !  What  was  you  gone  so  long 
for  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be, sure  !  "  said  meek  John,  "  I  might  as 
well  have  not  gone  at  all.  No  use,  no  use,  Prudy."  And 
he  sat  down  as  if  he  didn't  expect  ever  to  get  up  again. 

"  O  you  dish-rag  !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Apjohn.  "  There's 
no  more  sperit  or  stiffenin'  in  you  than  there  is  in  my 
apron-string  ! " 

"  Don't  speak  of  aprons  !  don't  speak  of  aprons  !  "  im 
plored  the  cooper;  the  subject  being  so  painfully  asso 
ciated  with  that  of  tomatoes,  that  he  did  not  think  he 
could  ever  see  an  apron  again  without  qualms. 

"  Well  ! "  —  sharply  —  "  what  did  you  find  out  ?  You 
let  Abel  soft-soap  you  to  death,  I  know  by  your  looks  !  " 

"Prudy,"  answered  the  cooper,  lifting  his  earnest, 
melancholy  eyes,  "  Abel  Dane's  an  innocent  man.  So  is 
his  wife.  'Twasn't  neither  of  them  that  hung  them 
things  on  our  door,  and  they  haven't  told  nobody.  I've 
their  word  for  't." 

"  That  for  their  word  !  "  Prudence  snapped  her  fin 
gers  scornfully.  "  Don't  tell  me  !  don't  tell  me,  John 
Apjohn  !  They  may  make  you  believe  that  absurd 
story,  but  I  know  better.  Jest  look  here ! " 

She  displayed  before  his  eyes  an  old  letter-envelope 
which  had  been  rolled  up,  pipe-stem  fashion,  and  which, 
when  unrolled,  showed  an  obstinate  tendency  to  fly  to 
gether  again,  —  very  much  after  the  manner  of  one  of 
Faustina's  curl-papers. 


Ii6  Neighbor's  Wives. 

"  What  is  it  ?  where  did  you  get  it  ?  "  John  asked,  with 
feeble  interest. 

"  Don't  you  see  what  it  is  ?  It's  one  of  the  kivers,  — 
what  ye  call  'ems,  —  of  Abel  Dane's  letters.  Here's  his 
name  on't,  — don't  ye  see  ?  And  where  do  you  s'pose  I 
got  it  ?  On  this  very  floor,  —  see  ! "  exclaimed  Prudence, 
"  when  I  went  to  sweep  up  after  them  nasty  tomatuses." 

"  Abel  Dane  !  "  pronounced  the  cooper,  with  difficulty 
holding  the  scroll  open  with  his  unsteady  fingers,  whilst 
he  spelled  out  the  name.  "To  be  sure,  Prudy;  to  be 
sure  !  On  the  floor  ?  How  come  it  on  the  floor  ?  I 
don't  understand.  I  don't  understand." 

"  No,  you  never  understand  !  "  said  bitter  Prudence. 
"  You  can't  see  through  a  grin'stun  without  somebody 
stands  by  and  shows  you  the  hole.  It's  jest  as  plain  as 
day  to  me  now  that  Abel  Dane  come  here  last  night  and 
stuck  them  tomatuses  on  our  door,  — jest  as  plain  as  if 
I'd  seen  him  do  it.  He  had  his  label  ready  to  put  on  to 
'em,  but  in  takin'  it  out  of  his  pocket,  he  dropped  this. 
Then  when  you  dragged  the  vines  into  the  house,  you 
swep'  it  along  in  with  'em.  Who  else  should  have  one 
of  his  letters  ?  Answer  me  that,  John  Apjohn  !  " 

"  Wai,  wal  ! "  said  the  cooper,  convinced  by  this  over 
whelming  circumstantial  evidence,  "  it  must  be  as  you 
say,  Prudy.  But  I  wouldn't  have  thought  he'd  have 
done  it;  I  wouldn't  have  thought  he'd  have  done  it !  " 

"  I  swep'  the  house  only  ye's'd'y  mornin',  and  there's 
been  nobody  in't  sence  but  us  two,  has  there  ?  Tell  me 
that  I " 


The  Sad  Case  of  the  Cooper.         117 

tu  No,  not  as  I  know  on,"  said  John. 

"  There  !  "  she  exclaimed,  arrogantly,  as  if  he  had  been 
opposing  her  theory.  "  How,  then,  I'd  like  to  know,  did 
this  paper  come  here  V  If  you  know  any  better'n  I  do, 
why  don't  you  say  ?  If  you  can  explain  it,  why  don't 
you  ?  Come,  you  know  so  much  !  " 

"  I  don't  pretend,  I  don't  pretend,"  murmured  John. 

"  Wai  !  "  —  triumphantly  —  "  I  guess  you'll  give  it  up, 
then,  that  I'm  right  for  once.  Takes  me,  after  all ;  as 
you'll  learn  after  I'm  dead  and  gone,  if  you  don't  before, 
and  I  never  expect  you  will ;  but  you'll  think  of  me,  and 
miss  my  advice  and  judgment  in  matters  when  I'm  laid 
in  my  grave;  and  I  guess  you'll  wish  then  you'd  heerd 
to  me  more,  and  thought  more  of  my  opinions;  but  I 
hope  your  conscience  won't  trouble  you  on  that  account, 
Mister  Apjohn  ! " 

"  Don't,  don't,  Prudy  !  "  entreated  the  cooper,  holding 
his  leg  on  his  knee,  and  bending  over  it,  and  rocking  it 
plaintively.  "  I  can't  bear  it !  " 

For  the  frail  mortal  saw  nothing  absurd  in  the  hy 
pothesis  of  surviving  his  robust  spouse;  and  he  didn't 
know  but  he  might  feel  remorse  for  his  supposed  cruel 
treatment  of  her. 

"  I  shan't  be  always  spared  to  you,  Mister  Apjohn  ! " 
— The  Mister  was  peculiarly  cutting.  —  "I  hope  you 
don't  wish  me  out  of  the  way  before  my  time  comes ; 
though  I  sometimes  half  think  you  do,"  she  continued, 
giving  vent  to  her  feelings  in  a  strain  to  which  she  com 
monly  had  recourse,  when  very  much  in  fault,  or  very 


n8  Neighbors'  Wives. 

much  perplexed  and  depressed.  "  It's  nat'ral,  I  know; 
and  I  don't  say  I  blame  you.  A  woman  can't  expect  to 
git  credit  for  her  vartews  now-days;  but  if  she  happens 
for  once  to  be  a  little  unfort'nate  in  her  ca'c'lations,  oh, 
it's  a  dreadful  thing  !  and  it's  laid  up  ag'inst  her  as  long 
as  she  lives."  Prudence  sighed  and  snuffed. 

"  Prudy,"  said  John,  "  I  hain't  laid  up  nothing  agin 
ye;  nor  I  don't  blame  ye  for  nothin',  nuther; "  wThich 
powerful  array  of  negatives,  seconded  by  a  strong  sym 
pathetic  snuffing  on  the  part  of  the  cooper,  afforded  her 
the  solace  she  sought  for  her  wounded  self-respect. 

"  Wai  !  "  she  exclaimed,  wiping  her  eyes  with  the  cor 
ner  of  her  apron,  "  as  I  said  afore,  I  ain't  a  goin'  to  die 
till  I'm  even  with  Abel  Dane,  if  I  have  to  live  to  be  as 
old  as  Methusalem.  Come,  don't  set  mopin'  there  over 
your  knees  !  I'm  a  goin'  to  have  breakfast;  and  I  shan't 
let  this  thing  spile  my  appetite,  nuther  !  " 

Prudence  was  herself  again.  But  John  could  not  so 
easily  extricate  himself  from  the  slough  of  despond ;  and 
she  felt  that  she  ought  to  do  something  to  encourage  him. 

"  Come,  John,"  said  she,  at  table,  "  drink  your  tea,  and 
eat  your  flapjacks,  and  be  a  man  !  Don't  let  it  worry  you 
a  mite.  We've  got  our  house  and  home  left,  and  a  lit 
tle  property  to  make  us  comf  table  and  respected  in  our 
old  age,  and  about  money  enough  a'ready  to  buy  two 
more  shares;  and  I'll  tell  ye  what,  John  Apjohn,  —  don't 
le's  lot  on  doin'  much  work  to-day.  We're  gittin'  fore 
handed,  so's't  we  can  begin  to  think  of  a  holiday  once  in 
a  while.  And  I've  an  idee  of  what  we'll  do.  Soon's  I 


The  Sad  Case  of  the  Cooper.         119 
1 

git  the  dishes  cleared  away,  we'll  count  over  the  money 
and  see  jest  how  much  there  is,  though  I  s'pose  I  know 
perty  near  ;  then  we'll  go  and  see  about  gittin'  that 
money  of  Mr.  Parker,  and  buyin'  two  more  shares. 
And  jest  think,  John  !  that  will  give  us  sixteen  dollars 
more  dividends  every  year,  which'll  be  a  comfort  to  think 
of  dull  days,  now,  won't  it !  " 

John  failed  to  be  much  enlivened  by  his  wife's 
schemes.  He  had  not  the  heart  to  show  himself  to  the 
eyes  of  the  wrorld  that  day;  and,  sorrowfully  shaking 
his  head,  he  answered,  as  she  urged  the  subject  of  going 
out,  — 

"  No,  Prudy,  no;  you  may  go  and  enjoy  yourself,  but 
I  shall  stay  to  hum." 

Accordingly  Prudence,  craving  some  stimulus  to  her 
dashed  spirits,  set  out,  about  an  hour  afterwards,  unac 
companied,  to  see  Mr.  Parkef  about  the  money,  —  her 
proposal  to  compute,  in  the  mean  time,  the  contents  of 
the  till,  not  having  been  carried  into  effect,  in  conse 
quence  of  John's  dismal  lack  of  interest. 

"  "What's  money  now  ?  "  said  the  poor  man  to  him 
self,  sighing  as  he  saw  her  depart,  and  wondering  how 
she  could  care  for  such  things  any  more.  "  O  Prudy, 
Prudy  I  I'd  give  all  we've  got  in  this  world  if  we  could 
hold  up  our  heads  as  respectable  as  we  did  a  week  ago  ! 
But  now  !  "  — 

He  was  going  mechanically  to  feed  the  pigs;  but  at 
the  door  his  eye  fell  upon  a  coil  of  green  vines  in  a  bas 
ket,  where  Prudence  had  thrown  them,  and  some  red 


I2O  Neighbors'   Wives. 

tomatoes  floating  on  the  swill ;  and  he  was  so  overcome 
by  the  sight,  that  the  swine  were  left  to  squeal  in  vain 
for  their  breakfast  the  rest  of  the  morning. 

Back  into  the  kitchen  crept  the  cooper,  and  shut  him 
self  up.  There  was  no  one  to  observe  him  now;  and  he 
gave  vent  to  his  woe,  uttering  a  groan  at  every  breath, 
tearing  out  imaginary  handfuls  of  hair,  and  scouring 
with  imaginary  ashes  that  smooth,  naked  scalp  of  his, 
until  it  shone.  Then  for  a  long  time  all  was  still  in 
that  doleful  kitchen;  and  he  might  have  been  seen  sit 
ting,  in  a  reversed  position,  astride,  upon  one  of  the 
splint-bottomed  chairs,  his  arms  folded  upon  the  back  of 
it,  and  his  head  bolstered  upon  his  arms,  —  a  little 
doubled-up  human  figure,  motionless  as  an  effig}''. 

John  was  having  a  vision,  —  not  of  the  heavenly  kind. 
He  saw  innumerable  doors  festooned  with  tomato-vines. 
He  saw  his  neighbors,  with  sarcastic  polite  faces,  nod 
coldly  at  him  as  he  passed  on  the  street,  and  wink  sig 
nificantly  at  each  other  behind  his  back.  He  saw  the 
children  rush  out  of  the  school-house  to  jeer  and  hoot, 
whenever  he  and  his  wife  appeared.  He  saw  the  sus 
picious  clerks  keep  an  unusually  sharp  watch  over  the 
goods  on  the  counters,  when  they  entered  a  store.  He 
observed  the  sly  glances,  and  the  unnatural  hush,  —  in 
dicative  of  a  sensation,  —  when  they  walked  down  the 
church-aisle  on  a  Sunday  morning.  He  beheld  troops 
of  roguish  boys  flocking  to  his  house  by  night  to  fasten 
the  badge  of  disgrace  to  his  latch;  and  he  heard  the 
scornful  laughter.  This  part  of  his  vision  was  so  vivid, 


The  Sad  Case  of  the  Cooler.         121 

that  he,  for  a  moment,  actually  believed  that  there  were 
impish,  leering  faces  at  the  windows,  looking  in  upon 
him,  and  insulting  hands  holding  up  red  tomatoes  to 
taunt  him.  He  started  to  his  feet.  The  vision  vanished ; 
but  the  intolerable  burden  of  his  shame  and  distress  was 
with  him  still. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  live  !  I  can't  live  !  "  he  burst  forth.  "  I 
never  can  show  myself  where  I'm  known  again;  and 
what's  the  use  ?  " 

He  thought  of  the  well.  He  went  and  looked  into  it. 
It  was  thirty  feet  deep , —  cold,  dark,  and  uninviting.  If 
Prudy  had  been  there,  to  fortify  his  resolution  by  her 
sympathy  and  example,  he  might  have  jumped  in.  But, 
alone,  he  had  not  the  heart.  He  concluded  that  his  ra 
zor  would  open  the  most  expeditious  and  least  disagree 
able  door  of  exit  from  this  dreary  world,  and  went  back 
into  the  house.  He  examined  the  tonsorial  implement, 
and  honed  it.  But  at  every  stroke  his  dread  of  wounds 
and  his  horror  of  blood  increased.  He  would  not  like  to 
present  a  ghastly,  mangled  appearance  afterwards,  and 
aggravate  Prudy's  feelings  by  staining  her  clean  floor. 
He  cast  his  eyes  upwards.  There  were  hooks  in  the  ceil 
ing,  supporting  a  kitchen  pole,  —  one  of  those  old-fash 
ioned  domestic  institutions  devoted  to  towels,  dishcloths, 
coils  of  pumpkins,  sliced  in  rings,  drying  for  winter  use, 
and  on  the  ends  of  which  farmers'  hats  are  hung. 

John  thought  of  ropes  and  straps,  clothes-line  and 
bed-cord,  —  none  of  which  promised  to  be  very  comfort 
able  to  the  neck,  —  and  concluded  that  his  red  silk  hand- 
11 


122  Neighbors1  Wives. 

kerchief  would  best  answer  his  purpose.  The  red  silk 
was  "brought  out  of  the  bedroom,  folded  to  the  requisite 
shape,  and  a  solemnly  suggestive  noose  tied  in  it.  This 
he  slipped  over  his  neck,  and  drew  reasonably  close,  to 
see  how  it  would  seem.  Then  he  ascended  a  chair,  and 
passed  the  loose  end  of  the  handkerchief  over  the  middle 
of  the  pole,  and  fastened  it,  —  only  to  see  how  it  would 
seem,  you  know;  for  it  was  his  intention  to  write  Prudy 
an  affectionate  letter  of  farewell  before  committing  him 
self  to  the  fatal  leap. 

Or  it  may  be  he  had  as  yet  formed  no  inflexible  deter 
mination  to  destroy  himself,  —  wiser  men  than  he  having 
been  known  to  divert  their  melancholy  by  playing  at 
suicide.  Perhaps,  in  a  little  while,  he  would  have  de 
scended  from  the  improvised  scaffold,  removed  the  halter, 
wiped  his  eyes  with  it,  and  felt  better.  Let  us  hope  so. 
Unfortunately,  however,  at  a  critical  juncture,  a  noise, 
real  or  imaginary,  startled  him.  What  if  his  neigh 
bors  were  coming  once  more  to  insult  him  ?  He  turned 
to  look;  then  turned  again  hastily  to  disengage  his  neck, 
and  get  down.  It  was  an  old  splint-bottomed  chair  he 
was  using,  and  to  avoid  injuring  the  half-worn  seat,  he 
stood  on  the  edges  of  it.  In  his  agitation,  he  made  a 
terrible  misstep;  the  chair  was  overturned,  —  it  flew 
from  beneath  his  feet,  —  and  he  was  launched. 


More  and  more  Entangled.  123 


XIV. 

MORE   AND   MORE   ENTANGLED. 

WELL  might  Faustina's  heart,  meanwhile,  be  filled 
with  stinging  regrets  and  fears,  —  a  restless  swarm,  — 
although  she  knew  not  yet  half  the  mischief  she  had 
done.  She  wished  she  had  never  seen  Tasso  Smith; 
she  bitterly  repented  confiding  her  secret  to  Melissa. 
Of  her  blind  and  foolish  haste  to  deny  her  real  guilt, 
when  only  a  minor  fault  was  charged  against  her,  she 
could  not  think  without  anger  at  her  own  stupidity  and 
dread  for  the  result.  And  the  jewels, — she  loathed 
them.  And  the  purloined  money,  —  the  remorse  and 
terror  it  gave  her  grew  momently.  She  was  in  such  a 
state  of  suspense  and  alarm  that,  when  she  saw  Mrs. 
Apjohn  going  to  the  village  that  morning,  a  wild  fancy 
seized  her  that  the  robbery  was  discovered,  that  Pru 
dence  was  in  pursuit  of  a  magistrate,  and  that  the  safest 
course  now  would  be  to  overtake  her,  confess  the  bor 
rowing,  and  offer  the  jewels  as  a  pawn  for  the  repay 
ment  of  the  money. 

Accordingly,  this  creature  of  impulse  once  more 
threw  on  her  bonnet,  thrust  the  jewels  into  her  bag,  and 
hurried  forth.  Not  often  had  she  ventured  to  show 


124  Neighbors'  Wives. 

herself  in  the  street  in  a  calico  morning-dress;  but  this 
time  apprehension  conquered  pride.  Her  step  was 
swift,  and  she  came  in  sight  of  Prudence  as  she  was 
passing  the  meeting-house  green.  Then  well  would  it 
have  "been  for  all,  had  Faustina  promptly  carried  out 
her  original  intention  !  But,  at  the  critical  moment,  her 
courage  failed.  She  shrank  from  the  humiliation  of 
placing  herself,  by  a  confession  of  her  trespass,  on  a  level 
with  her  neighbor.  Aiid  the  secret  hope  revived  that 
her  fears  were  after  all  groundless,  and  that  her  guilt 
might  never  be  known.  So  she  resolved  to  delay  a 
little,  and  watch  Mrs.  Apjohn's  movements. 

Prudence  passed  down  the  main  street  of  the  village, 
and  appeared  to  enter  a  shoe -store,  —  Faustina  following, 
vigilant  and  anxious,  at  a  safe  distance.  Waiting  for 
her  to  transact  her  business  and  come  out,  the  young 
wife  proceeded  more  leisurely,  and  began  to  think  of 
her  unpresentable  attire,  and  to  hope  that  she  might  not 
see  anybody  that  she  cared  for.  Vain  wish  !  A  young 
gentleman  was  sunning  himself  on  the  sidewalk.  He 
had  a  self-satisfied  smirk,  a  complacent,  airy  strut,  a 
little  moustache,  and  a  little  rattan.  He  bowed  rather 
formally  to  Faustina,  and  was  passing  on. 

"O  Tasso,"  she  cried,  stopping  him,  "you're  doiiii? 
everything  you  can  to  destroy  my  peace  !  " 

"  Be  I  ?  Wasn't  aware."  And  Tasso,  who  not  only 
resented  her  failure  to  keep  her  engagement  with  him 
the  day  before?  but  also  foreboded  importunities  anent 
the  jewels,  treated  her  with  provoking  coolness. 


More  and  more  Entangled.  125 

"  Didn't  you  promise  me  you  never  would  tell  about 
Mrs.  Apjomi  ?  But  I  was  a  fool,"  said  Faustina,  "to 
expect  you  to  keep  a  secret  I  couldn't  keep  myself! 
Though  I  did  rely  on  your  promise,  Tasso,  and  never 
suspected  you  of  betraying  confidence  !  " 

"  Who  said  I  had  betrayed  confidence  ?  I  haven't 
betrayed  no  confidence,  madam  !  "  said  Tasso,  stiff  and 
distant.  "  I  said  I  wouldn't  tell,  and  no  more  I  hain't." 

"  Then  it  was  you  that  hung  the  tomatoes  on  her  door 
last  night  ! " 

"  Have  I  promised  not  to  hang  tomatoes  on  anybody's 
door  ?  "  retorted  Tasso,  with  an  inward  chuckle.  "  And 
what  if  1  did,  —  though  I  don't  say  I  did,  mind,  —  what's 
the  harm  to  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know,  Tasso  ! "  And  Faustina  did 
not  dare  to  inform  him,  though  she  longed  to. 

"I  sh'd  think  you  had  time  enough  to  borrow  the 
money,  by  the  way  you  kept  me  walking  up  and  down 
yesterday,  waiting  for  you,  by  George  !  "  And  Smith 
tapped  his  patent  leather  with  the  aforesaid  rattan.  "  I 
walked  in  sight  of  the  church  there  fourteen  hours 
or  more.  Never  was  so  disappointed  in  my  life,  by 
George  !  "  —  Switch.  —  "I  keep  my  engagements." 

"Forgive  me,  Tasso.  You  know  what  a  trouble  I 
was  in.  I  couldn't  come." 

"  Well,  never  mind,"  said  Tasso,  softening.  "  Good 
joke,  though,  about  the  tomatoes  !  Hung  on  Apjohn's 
door  ?  Hi  !  hi !  hi !  How'd  you  learn  V  " 

"•  Oh,  there's  been  such  a  time  about  it !     Mr.  Apjohn 
11  * 


126  Neighbors'  Wives. 

was  at  our  house  before  daylight  to  know  if  we  had  done 
it" 

"Hi!  hi!"  tittered  Mr.  Smith.  "Capital  joke,  by 
George  !  Wish  I'd  seen  him  !  I'm  waiting  now  to  meet 
the  old  woman,  when  she  comes  out  of  the  lawyer's 
office;  see  how  she  looks;  see  if  she'll  be  so  deuced  inde 
pendent  with  me  to-day.  Look  here;  I've  got  something 
to  please  her  ! "  Tasso  unfolded  his  handkerchief,  and 
displayed  a  tomato. 

Faustina  scarcely  heeded  the  malicious  insinuation,  a 
word  he  had  previously  dropped  distracting  her  thoughts. 

"  What  lawyer's  office  ?  "  she  asked,  excitedly  gazing. 
"  She  went  into  the  shoe-shop,  —  if  you  mean  Mrs.  Ap- 
john." 

"  No,  she  didn't;  though't  might  have  looked  so  to  you. 
She's  in  Lawyer  Parker's  office  now;  over  the  shoe-shop; 
entrance  next  door." 

Taking  legal  counsel  I  Then  all  was  lost;  and  all 
might  have  been  well,  Faustina  thought,  had  she  but 
made  haste  and  carried  out  her  first  intention,  instead  of 
delaying  to  reconsider  and  observe.  And  yet,  perhaps, 
the  faint  hope  kindled  within  her,  it  was  not  too  late  to 
retrieve  her  error.  Why  not  go  straight  to  the  lawyer's 
room,  call  out  Mrs.  Apjohn,  and  stop  legal  proceedings  ? 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  Tasso.  "You  look 
scared  !  Going  ?  What's  your  hurry  ?  Didn't  you  git 
the  money  of  her  yist'day  ?  " 

"  Yes  — no  —  I  must  see  her  now.  Wait  till  I  come 
back,  Tasso!" 


More  and  more  Entangled.  127 

And  she  hurried  away  from  him;  while  he,  crossing 
the  street  with  the  smiling  air  of  a  gentleman  of  elegant 
leisure  and  happy  adventures,  ensconced  himself  in  an 
alley  where  the  warm  sunshine  fell,  and  where,  screened 
from  general  observation,  he  could  mellow  his  tomato 
and  watch  the  course  of  events. 

Up  the  lawyer's  stairs  rushed  Faustina;  and  her  hand 
was  on  the  latch  before  she  had  taken  an  instant  to  re 
flect  upon  what  she  was  doing.  There  she  paused  to 
regain  her  breath,  still  her  rapid  heart-beats,  and  think 
over  a  speech  to  Prudence.  But  already  the  wind  of 
impulse  began  to  fail  her,  the  sails  of  her  spirit  to  col 
lapse  and  shake,  and  the  fogs  of  doubt  to  loom  before 
her.  And  such  were  this  woman's  feebleness  of  con 
science  and  fickleness  of  heart,  that  she  might  have 
changed  her  purpose  once  more,  and  stolen  awray  with 
out  lifting  the  latch,  had  not  the  lawyer,  hearing  a  move 
ment,  opened  the  door,  and  found  her  standing  there 
confused  and  irresolute,  and  invited  her  in. 

"  You  —  are  occupied  ?  "  she  faltered. 

"I  shall  soon  be  at  leisure,"  said  the  cordial  old  man; 
"  won't  you  sit  down  and  wait  ?  " 

His  broad  and  genial  manners  restored  Faustina's 
confidence.  He  would  not  be  so  civil,  she  was  sure,  if 
he  had  undertaken  a  case  against  her.  The  proposal  to  sit 
down  and  wait  seemed  to  her  almost  providential;  for,  so 
deep  is  the  natural  instinct  of  faith,  that  even  the  wrong 
doer  will  often  flatter  himself  that  his  course  is  shaped 
by  some  divinity.  An  opportunity  to  compose  herself, 


128  Neighbors'  Wives. 

frame  excuses,  look  about  her,  and  then  proceed  warily, 
was  what  she  most  desired.  And  she  went  in. 

Near  the  desk  sat  a  farmer.  He  had  the  appearance 
of  doing  business  with  Mr.  Parker,  who  went  back  to 
him,  after  placing  a  seat  for  Faustina.  In  a  retired  cor 
ner  was  a  third  visitor, — a  female,  russet-faced  and 
portly,  with  stoutest  arms,  and  a  form  whose  adipose 
folds  quite  buried  her  close-drawn  apron-strings,  as  she 
sat  compressed  into  one  of  the  office-chairs. 

We  recognize  our  friend,  Mrs.  Apjohn.  She  has  the 
look  of  a  client,  awaiting  her  turn.  A  most  fortunate 
circumstance  for  young  Mrs.  Dane,  you  think;  for  of 
course  she  will  take  advantage  of  it,  to  do  her  difficult  er 
rand,  won't  she  ?  Not  at  all.  She  nods  a  good-morning, 
takes  her  position  as  far  from  Prudence  as  possible,  and 
pretends  to  read  a  newspaper  which  she  picks  up; 
while  the  other  holds  aloft  her  head  with  an  air  of  indif 
ference,  —  not  at  all  natural,  —  and  by  sneers  and  frowns 
and  wry  faces  and  contemptuous  snuffs,  expresses  the 
opinion  she  has  formed,  since  yesterday,  of  her  fair 
neighbor. 

Faustina,  who  nervously  turns  and  rustles  the  news 
paper,  and  runs  her  eye  over  it  without  understanding 
a  word  that  is  in  it,  understood  very  well  these  demon 
strations  of  resentment  on  the  part  of  Prudence.  But 
she  is  at  a  loss  to  determine  the  cause  of  that  resentment. 
Is  it  the  money  of  yesterday,  or  the  tomatoes  of  last 
night  ?  In  either  case,  she  feels  that  she  ought  to  be 
more  conciliatory  in  her  manner,  and  prepare  the  way 
for  explanations. 


More  and  more  Entangled.  129 

"  How  pleasant  it  is,  this  morning,  Mrs.  Apjohn  !  " 

"Pleasant !  "  mutters  Prudence,  with  a  scowl,  elevat 
ing  her  chin  another  degree.  And  with  grim  satisfac 
tion  she  perceives  that  the  cut  has  told. 

Poor,  proud  Faustina  !  At  another  time  such  inso 
lence  would  have  angered  her  forever.  But  this  morn 
ing  she  cannot  afford  to  take  offence.  She  must  humble 
herself  even  at  the  feet  of  that  miserable,  low-bred  wo 
man;  and,  with  her  heart  guiltily  sinking,  and  her  throat 
rebelliously  rising,  she  must  smile  serenely,  and  respond 
sweetly,  — 

"  Rather  cool,  however;  quite  a  change  in  the  weather 
since  Sunday." 

"  Change  !  "  snarls  Mrs.  Apjohn,  regarding  this  as  an 
insulting  allusion  to  her  Sunday-afternoon  adventure. 
And,  giving  her  head  a  jerk,  her  frock  a  flirt,  and  her 
chair  a  hitch,  with  a  parting  look  of  hatred,  she  turns 
upon  Faustina  a  shoulder  of  the  very  broadest  and  cold 
est  description.  The  latter  was  smitten  dumb;  not 
doubting  but  it  was  the  complete  and  certain  knowledge 
of  her  guilt  which  made  Prudence  so  insufferably  rude 
to  her.  Then,  to  increase  her  confusion,  she  perceived 
that  the  outrage  she  dared  not  resent  was  observed  by 
the  farmer,  who  had  risen  to  go,  and  by  the  lawyer,  who 
was  advancing  to  learn  the  business  of  his  female  vis 
itors.  And  the  time  had  come  for  her  to  act,  or  at  least, 
to  offer  some  pretext  for  being  there:  and  she  had  not 
yet  formed  a  plan,  and  her  wits  were  a  chaos.  She  was 
glad  that  the  lawyer  addressed  himself  first  to  Mrs.  Ap- 


130  Neighbors'  Wives. 

John ;  though  she  expected  the  next  minute  to  hear  her 
crime  denounced. 

But  Prudence  was  averse  to  transacting  business  in 
the  presence  of  her  neighbor.  "  I  am  in  no  petic'lar 
hurry,"  she  said.  "  I  can  wait,  while  you  attend  to  that 
other  person." 

_So  the  bland-faced  lawyer  turned  to  the  "  other  per 
son." 

"  I  prefer  to  take  my  turn,"  Faustina  managed  to  say. 
"  Mrs.  Apjohn  was  here  first." 

"  I'll  wait  for  her,"  said  Prudence,  -obstinately.  "  Nev 
er  mind  who  come  first.  The  first  shall  be  last,  and 
the  last  shall  be  first,  we  are  told,"  with  a  significant 
scoff  at  the  handsome  and  once  haughty  Faustina. 

The  lawyer  looked  bothered,  and  he  once  more  ap 
plied  to  his  younger  visitor. 

"I  —  really  —  cannot  come  in  before  her;  it  wouldn't 
be  fair,"  Faustina  stammered. 

"  Wai,"  exclaimed  Prudence,  sharply,  "  I  hope  I  ain't 
so  silly  as  to  stand  upon  ceremony  and  all  that  non 
sense  !  My  business  is  ruther  private;  but  if  Mis' Dane 
wants  to  stay  and  hear  it,  I've  no  petic'lar  objection," 

"  I'll  go,"  —  and  Faustina  made  a  flutter  toward  leav 
ing. 

"  No,  you  needn't,  —  you  may  as  well  stay.  I  jest  as 
lives  you  would.  Come  to  think  on't,  I'd  a  leetle  druther 
you  would." 

For  Mrs.  Apjohn,  who  had  hitherto,  for  reasons  of 
her  own,  kept  her  financial  concerns  a  secret  from  her 


More  and  more  Entangled.  131 

neighbors,  determined  of  a  sudden  to  manifest  her  inde 
pendence  and  command  the  respect  of  the  worldlings, 
by  letting  her  wealth  be  known.  She  drew  near  the 
desk. 

"  I  have  come,  Mr.  Parker,  to  see  about  that  fifty 
dollars.1' 

It  needed  not  the  surly,  exultant  glance  she  flung  at 
Faustina  to  carry  consternation  to  that  trembling  wo 
man's  soul.  It  was  time  to  speak.  She  began, — 

"  As  for  that  fifty  dollars,  Mrs.  Apjohn,  you  can  have 
it  almost  any  time.  I  suppose,"  — 

She  hesitated,  quite  out  of  breath. 

"I  can,  —  can  I?"  said  the  astonished  Prudence, 
while  the  lawyer  lifted  his  mild  eyes  with  a  puzzled 
expression. 

u  Yes  —  I  —  I  have  just  a  word  to  say." 

"  You  have,  —  have  you  ?    I  should  like  to  know  1 " 

Faustina's  face  was  scarlet,  and  she  spoke  in  a  wild 
and  hurried  whisper,  — 

"  I  hope  —  I  assure  you  —  your  money  won't  be  lost. 
If  you  will  have  the  patience  to  wait  "  — 

Prudence  regarded  her  with  grisly  scorn. 

"  Wait  ?  Didn't  I  offer  to  wait  ?  I  gave  you  a 
chance  to  speak,  and  you  wouldn't  take  it.  Now  I'll 
thank  you  jest  to  hold  your  tongue,"  she  added,  with 
overpowering  arrogance,  "and  let  me  do  my  business 
with  Mr.  Parker  in  peace.  I've  no  idee  of  my  money 
bein'  lost  !  Trust  Mr.  Parker  for  that !  'Tisn't  as 
though  I  was  goin*  to  look  to  you  for  it !  " 


132  Neighbors'  Wives. 

This  cool  cup  of  impudence  dashed  the  color  from 
Faustina's  cheeks.  She  stood  up,  white  and  quivering 
with  excitement,  —  defiant  and  desperate  now  that  the 
worst,  as  she  believed,  had  come. 

"  Threaten,  —  do  you  ?  Yery  well !  what  do  I  care  ? 
I  laugh  at  you  !  Get  your  money  if  you  can  !  I  fancy 
you'll  get  it  about  the  time  I  get  the  tomatoes  stolen 
out  of  our  garden.  Come,  my  lady  "  (with  frightful 
irony),  "  you  see  two  can  play  at  your  game.  Finish 
your  business  with  Mr.  Parker ;  then  I'll  propose 
mine.  You  can  guess  by  this  time  what  it  is  ! " 

Passion  had  concentrated  the  rash  young  woman's 
scattered  wits,  and  she  had  come  to  the  quick  deter 
mination  to  enter  a  complaint  against  Prudence  for 
a  theft  of  vegetables,  if  the  latter  persisted  in  taking 
legal  measures  to  recover  the  stolen  money.  Perhaps 
Mrs.  Apjohn  understood  something  of  the  malign 
intent.  Certain  it  is  that  her  contumeliousness  was 
very  suddenly  suppressed. 

"  Mr.  Parker,  I  leave  it  to  you  if  I've  said  or  done 
anything  to  merit  sech  treatment  as  this  I " 

"  Indeed,"  said  Mr.  Parker,  "  I  am  utterly  at  a  loss 
to  understand  this  unfortunate  misunderstanding." 

"  I  offered  to  explain,"  cried  Faustina.  "  I'm  not 
ashamed  to  have  Mr.  Parker  know  all,  if  you  are  not. 
Begin  now,— tell  your  story;  then  I'll  give  my  side," 
and  she  sat  down  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  I  come  here,"  said  Prudence,  "  on  a  quiet  matter  of 
business.  I  shall  go  on  with  it.  I  —  am  sorry  —  if  I 


More  and  more  Entangled.  133 

have  offended  you,"  she  humbled  herself  to  say,  the 
words  sticking  in  her  throat.  "  Now,  Mr.  Parker,  le's 
see  !  About  that  fifty-three  dollars  "  — 

"  Fifty  !  "  spoke  up  the  excited  Faustina.  "  It  was 
only  fifty  !  Don't  try  to  make  it  more  than  it  is." 

The  simmering  wrath  of  Prudence  came  near  boiling 
over  again  at  this  interference. 

"  I  said  fifty  at  first,"  —  she  spoke  patiently  as  she 
could,  —  "but  with  interest  it's  fifty-three  and  a  trifle 
over." 

"  Interest  ?  interest  since  yesterday  !  — but  go  on;  go 
on  !  "  said  Faustina,  "  see  what  you'll  make  pf  it." 

Mrs.  Apjohn  could  hardly  restrain  her  fury. 

"  Will  you  stop,  and  wait  till  I  am  through  ?  I  guess 
me  and  Mr.  Parker  knows  what  we're  about.  Interest 
since  yesterday  !  "  she  repeated.  "  Think  I'm  a  fool  ? 
It's  interest  for  the  past  year,  as  Mr.  Parker  knows." 

Mr.  Parker  smiled  assent,  and  inquired  if  she  had  the 
note. 

"  Yes,  1  brought  it  with  me,"  said  she;  "  for  it's  on  de 
mand,  and  you  spoke  as  if  you'd  like  to  pay  it,  and  we're 
making  up  a  little  sum  for  the  first  of  October,  which'll 
be  here  next  week;  and  if  it's  jest  as  convenient  to-day, 
why,  you  can  pay  it  to-day  ;  if  not,  some  other  time; 
though  we  should  like  it  by  the  first,  anyway." 

It  seemed  to  rain  riddles  around  Faustina,  \vho  heard, 
and  stared,  and  rubbed  her  forehead,  as  if  to  awaken 
some  benumbed  sense  which  would  enable  her  to  see 
through  the  bewildering  drizzle. 


134  Neighbors'  Wives. 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  pay  you  now,"  said  Mr.  Parker. 

A  little  time  was  consumed  in  computing  the  interest 
to  Mrs.  Apjohn's  satisfaction;  which  gave  Faustina  an 
opportunity  to  recover  herself,  and  see  upon  what  a 
brink  of  folly  she  had  rushed  once  more,  hurried  thither 
by  her  own  accusing  conscience. 

"  What  a  simpleton  I  am  !  "  she  said  to  herself,  trem 
bling  at  her  narrow  escape.  "  Fool  to  think  I  had  been 
found  out,  or  would  be  !  " 

And  she  resolved  she  would  not  open  her  lips  again  to 
speak  of  the  transgression  which  she  now  firmly  believed 
would  never  be  discovered. 

She  was  still  hardening  her  heart  with  this  determina 
tion,  when  Mrs.  Apjohn  exclaimed,  — 

"  Why,  Mr.  Parker,  where  did  you  git  that  bill  ?  " 

"  The  fifty  ?  "  said  the  lawyer. 

"  Yes  !  I  declare,  it's  jest  like  one  I've  got  to  hum,  — 
on  the  Manville  bank,  —  my  mark  on't,  too  !  "  with  in 
creasing  trepidation. 

"  I  had  that  bill  not  over  an  hour  ago,  of  neighbor 
Hodge,"  replied  Mr.  Parker. 

"  Do  ye  know  where  he  got  it  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Ap 
john,  her  russet  face  actually  pale  with  fright. 

"No,  I  don't;  but  I've  no  doubt  he  can  tell  you." 

"  If  he  didn't  have  it  of  my  husband,  then  IVe  been 
robbed  !  And  John  Apjohn  wouldn't  dare  —  no  —  I  — 
is  Mr.  Hodge  to  his  store  now  ?  "  And  Prudence  has 
tily  rising,  lifted  along  with  her  the  chair  into  which  her 
ample  proportions  were  compressed,  upsetting  it  with  a 


More  and  more  Entangled.  135 

noise  that  went  to  Faustina's  quaking  soul  like  a  crash 
of  thunder. 

The  next  moment  she  was  gone.  And  Mrs.  Dane, 
rousing  from  her  stupor,  ran  to  the  window  to  see  which 
way  she  went. 

Prudence,  issuing  from  the  office  stairway,  started 
first  towards  Hodge  &  Company's  store.  Then  she 
changed  her  mind,  determining  to  rush  home  and  know 
for  a  certainty  if  her  till  had  been  robbed.  Then 
she  changed  her  mind  again,  and  concluded  that  she  had 
better  see  Mr.  Hodge.  While  she  was  hesitating  thus, 
something  fell  at  her  feet.  She  gave  it  a  glance:  'twas  a 
ripe  and  well-mellowed  tomato.  She  did  not  see  Tasso 
tittering  in  the  alley;  but,  casting  a  lurid  look  upwards, 
caught  sight  of  Faustina's  sleeve,  disappearing  from  the 
window. 

Faustina  was  moved  by  another  gust  of  impulse  to 
give  chase  to  Mrs.  Apjohn.  But  how  was  she  to  run 
the  blockade  of  that  craft  of  the  law,  —  the  man-of-war- 
rants, —  standing  off  and  on  to  ascertain  what  had 
brought  her  into  those  straits  ? 

"  Excuse  me  if  I  have  acted  rudely  this  morning,"  she 
said.  "  Circumstances  have  made  me  irritable,  I  am  in 
great  haste.  I "  — 

She  was  trying  to  beat  out  of  the  channel  betwixt  the 
table  and  the  wall;  but  he  intercepted  her,  and,  tack 
which  way  she  would,  she  found  herself  running  under 
his  bows. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  this  morning,  madam  ?  " 


136  Neighbors'    Wives. 

This  round  shot  brought  her  to. 

"  I  wish  —  to  —  raise  a  little  money.  I  thought  per 
haps  you  might "  — 

"Might  aid  yon.  Likely  enough;  but  you  will  have 
to  enlighten  me  in  regard  to  your  plans.  Sit  down." 

"  Thank  you  —  I  must  go  —  unless  "  —  a  new  idea.  "  I 
have  some  jewels  here  which  I  should  like  to  borrow 
fifty  dollars  on." 

Mr.  Parker  smiled  curiously,  as  he  glanced  at  the 
trinkets,  and  returned  them  to  her. 

"  This  is  a  kind  of  business  I  never  do,"  he  politely 
informed  her. 

Her  heart  sank ;  but  she  drew  herself  up  coldly  and 
proudly,  as  she  put  the  dross  back  into  her  bag,  beg 
ged  his  pardon  for  calling  upon  him,  and  quickly  took 
leave. 

In  the  street,  Prudence  was  nowhere  in  sight.  Faus 
tina,  in  an  agony  of  shame,  apprehension,  and  uncer 
tainty,  was  hesitating  which  way  to  go,  when  she  saw 
Mrs.  Apjohn  issue  from  Hodge  &  Company's  store 
and  run  —  actually  run  —  up  the  opposite  sidewalk. 
She  crossed  over  to  accost  her;  this  time  with  the  full 
determination  to  tell  her  everything. 

"  Mrs.  Apjohn  !  " 

"  Don't  you  stand  in  my  way  !  "  screamed  the  furious 
woman.  "  Git  out,  you  thing  !  No  more  of  your  in 
sults  to  me,  or  I'll "  — 

Faustina  stood  aside  as  the  broad  red  face  blazed  past 
her. 


More  and  more  Entangled.  137 

"  You  better  !  —  Throw  any  more  tomatuses  at  me, 
if  you  da's't !  —  I've  been  robbed,  or  I'd  'tend  to  your 
case  now,  you  stuck-up  silly  upstart !  "  And  Prudence, 
with  a  glare  of  rage,  turned  her  capacious  back,  and  set 
off  at  an  elephantine  trot ;  while  Tasso  walked  softly  out 
of  the  alley,  and  joined  Faustina. 

"Wish  she'd  tread  on  that  tomato,  and  slip  up; 
wouldn't  she  make  a  spread  ? "  observed  that  genteel 
youth. 

"  I  won't  try  again  !  That's  twice  I've  tried  to  tell 
her;  and  you  saw  how  she  treated  me  !"  said  the  in 
censed  Faustina.  "  Let  her  find  out  if  she  can  !  " 

Tasso  regarded  her  admiringly.  "By  George,  you 
look  splendid,  now  —  perfic'ly  superb  !  'S  wuth  while  to 
see  you  mad  once,  if's  only  to  get  one  flash  of  them 
splendid  eyes  !  —  What's  the  scrape  ?  " 

"  You  got  me  into  it,  Tasso  !  —  not  that  I  blame  you. 
We  mustn't  stand  talking  here.    Come  along  with  me, 
and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 
12* 


138  Neighbors'  Wives. 


XT. 

TRAGICAL. 

WE  left  the  cooper  noosed.  And  we  must  beg  his 
pardon  for  neglecting  him  so  long  in  that  ticklish  situa 
tion.  It  was  necessary  to  bring  forward  the  array  of 
events  to  the  moment  when  he  heard  the  noise  which 
precipitated  the  leap.  That  done,  the  reader  is  pre 
pared  to  learn  the  nature  of  that  noise ;  and  he  will,  we 
hope,  be  gratified  to  know  that  it  is  the  bustle  of  Pru 
dence  returning.  She  flings  open  the  door,  and  is  plung 
ing  straight  into  the  house,  bent  on  the  examination  of 
her  coffers,  when  the  lamentable  spectacle  meets  her 
eyes. 

The  chair  overthrown,  face  to  the  floor  and  heels  up, 
as  if  cowering  in.  fright  and  horror;  the  kitchen  pole 
sagging  and  shaking  with  its  unusual  burden;  the  red 
silk  tied  to  the  pole;  and  John  Apjohn  tied  to  the  red 
silk:  this  was  the  tragical  picture.  As  when  some  foggy 
morning  Phoebus,  belated,  having  overslept  himself,  or 
lingered  too  long  over  the  Olympian  beef-steaks  and 
coffee,  looks  at  his  watch,  cries  "  Bless  me  !  is  it  so  late  ?  " 
claps  on  his  hat,  mounts  his  omnibus,  and  whips  in  hot 
haste  out  of  the  stables  of  night  into  the  broad  way  of 


Tragical.  139 

the  zodiac:  like  that  original  red-faced  stage-driver, 
Prudence,  all  in  a  fume,  blown  as  was  never  fat  woman 
before,  glows  in  the  entrance  of  the  misty  and  dismal 
kitchen;  her  eyes  so  inflamed  with  heat  and  sweat  that 
she  can  hardly  discern  at  first  the  character  of  the 
ghostly  object  strung  between  the  zenith  and  nadir  of 
that  little  universe. 

Then  the  truth,  or  at  least  a  fragment  of  it,  bursts  in 
upon  her  preoccupied  mind.  John  has  discovered  the 
robbery  and  hung  himself !  The  hanging  was  obvious ; 
though  Prudence,  who  would  have  deemed  the  finding 
of  superfluous  vegetables  on  the  door-latch  a  very  poor 
excuse  for  the  deed,  and  the  loss  of  a  large  sum  of  money 
the  very  best  excuse,  fell  naturally  into  an  erroneous 
conjecture  of  the  cause. 

John's  attitude  was  extraordinary  for  that  of  a  hanged 
man.  He  did  not  kick.  Was  he  then  past  kicking  ? 
No;  he  had  not  indulged  at  all  in  that  little  convention 
ality  of  the  gallows.  He  had  other  work  for  his  legs  to 
do.  They  were  straightened  and  stretched  to  their  ut 
most,  whilst  his  feet  maintained  a  painful  tiptoe  posture, 
in  the  effort  to  avoid  the  extremely  disagreeable  exer 
cise  of  dancing  upon  nothing;  for  the  sanguinary  hand 
kerchief  had  relented  a  little,  and  the  remorseful  pole 
had  yielded  a  good  deal,  so  that  he  could  just  reach  and 
support  himself  on  the  floor,  as  the  sagacious  reader 
has  no  doubt  foreseen,  having  been  all  this  time,  like  the 
cooper,  only  imperfectly  held  in  suspense. 

And  there,  in  the  midst  of  the  kitchen,  hung,  or  rather 


140  Neighbors'  Wives. 

stood,  or  partly  hung  and  partly  stood,  the  melancholy 
man,  considerably  dark  in  the  face,  his  eyes  protruded 
and  rolling,  mouth  open,  and  tongue  out,  with  serious 
symptoms  of  asphyxia,  and  both  hands  raised,  one  above 
his  head,  grasping  the  red  halter  for  a  stay,  and  the  other 
struggling  in  terror  and  haste  with  the  silken  knot  under 
his  ear. 

"  John  !  John  Apjohn  !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  J.  A.,  "  what 
you  doing  ?  " 

"  Ich  —  ich  —  yaw  !  "  said  John.  For  you  have  only 
to  choke  a  man  sufficiently  in  order  to  make  him  talk 
like  a  Dutchman. 

"  Be  ye  dead,  John  ?  "  cried  his  spouse. 

"  Yaw  —  yaw,"  gurgled  Meinherr. 

"  O  John  !  "  groaned  Prudence,  clutching  the  hand 
kerchief,  and  swaying  down  the  gallows  to  ease  his  wind 
pipe.  "  Tried  to  hang  yourself !  "Why  did  you,  John  ? 
Oh,  dear  !  About  killed  ye,  has  it  ?  " 

John  essayed  to  speak,  but  only  croaked  and  clucked. 

"Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear  !  Misfor  tins  never  come  singly  ! 
"What  shall  I  do,  if  I  lose  you  and  the  money  too  ?  "  Her 
mind  flew  between  those  two  buffeting  disasters  like  a 
distracted  shuttlecock.  "  Don't  die  just  at  this  time, 
John  !  don't.  Can't  ye  git  it  off  now  ?  "  And  she  pulled 
the  red  silk  like  a  bell-rope,  in  her  endeavor  to  unhang 
him. 

"  C-c-u-t  i-it ! "  cackled  John. 

"  Wai  now,  you've  said  it ! "  exclaimed  Prudence. 
"  Guess  you'll  git  along  !  Cut  a  good  new  han'kerchief 


Tragical.  141 

like  this  'ere !  Why  didn't  ye  take  soniethin'  else,  some 
old  thing,  if  you  was  detarmined  to  hang  yourself? 
Your  Sunday  silk  !  Jest  like  you,  John  Apjohn,  for  all 
the  world  ! " 

"  Knife  — in  my  p-p-pocket ! "  strangled  the  cooper. 

"  Come  !  "  cried  Prudy,  losing  patience.  "  I  wouldn't 
try  to  talk  if  I  couldn't  talk  sense.  Can't  you  untie 
a  knot  ?  Take  your  teeth  !  "  Query :  how  was  he  to 
apply  his  incisors  to  a  knot  under  his  own  chin  ?  But 
Prudy  did  not  consider  that  little  difficulty.  "  Bite  it!  " 

"  C-c-a-n-t  !  "  quacked  John. 

"  Can't !  let  me  then  !  Why,  it's  a  slip-noose  !  Why 
don't  ye  slip  it  ?  Oh  !  "  moaned  Prudence,  "  if  I  was 
half  as  sure  of  gittin'  back  my  money  as  I  be  of  gittin' 
you  out  of  this  trap  !  How  did  we  git  robbed,  John  ?  " 

"  Robbed  ?  "  said  John,  in  a  more  human  accent. 

"  Why  !  didn't  you  know  it  ?  Ain't  that  what  you 
went  and  hung  yourself  for  ?  " 

"  No  ! " 

"  And  —  haven't  you  been  to  the  till  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  said  John,  getting  his  eyes  back  into  his  head 
again.  But  the  relief  was  only  temporary. 

"  Haven't  you  ?  Then  —  maybe — wait  a  minute  !  " 
and  in  her  agitation  she  let  up  the  pole,  which  carried 
with  it  the  handkerchief,  which  once  more  tightened 
around  John's  gullet. 

"  Oh  !  what  you  'b-b-bout  ?  "  he  bubbled. 

"  Hold  on  !  "  cried  Prudence,  "  you  can  stan'  it  a  min 
ute  !  I'm  dyin'  to  know  !  " 


142  Neighbors1   Wives. 

"  Yiz  —  iz  —  ich  !  "  choked  the  cooper,  up  again  on  his 
toes. 

Prudence,  eager  as  she  was  to  get  to  the  till,  stopped 
to  right  the  chair  and  help  him  up  on  to  it,  where  he 
stood,  like  a  reprieved  culprit,  with  the  noose  about  his 
neck;  while  she  snatched  the  key  from  the  clock,  flew  to 
the  chest,  unlocked  it,  and  unlocked  the  till  with  another 
key  from  beneath  it. 

Her  grca.t  fear  was  that  all  her  money  had  been 
stolen;  for  the  possibility  of  a  burglar  taking  the  trouble 
to  extract  fifty  dollars  and  leave  the  rest  had  not  entered 
her  mind.  Equally  great  now  was  her  joy  when  she  saw 
the  pocket-book  in  its  place  and  money  in  the  pocket- 
book.  Her  fright,  then,  had  been  causeless.  There 
were  two  bills  on  the  Manville  Bank  precisely  similar; 
and  somebody  had  put  a  private  mark,  exactly  like  her 
own,  on  the  extraordinary  duplicate.  Such  were  her 
reflections  as  she  came  out  of  the  bedroom,  with  delight 
on  her  countenance,  and  her  treasure  in  her  grasp. 

John  had  in  the  mean  time  slid  the  ends  of  the  pole  out 
of  its  supports,  taken  down  his  gallows,  and  seated  him 
self,  with  it  across  his  lap,  on  his  scaffold.  And  there  he 
was,  bent  double,  patiently  loosening  the  tie  of  his  red 
choker,  when  Prudy  threw  herself  on  the  wood-box,  ex 
claiming,  — 

"  We  hain't  been  robbed  arter  all,  John  !  Here's  the 
wallet  and  all  the  money,  I  s'pose,  —  though  it's  the 
greatest  mystery  about  that  fifty-dollar  bill !  And  oh  ! 
it's  well  for  Abel  Dane  that  he  hain't  been  rneddlin'  with 


Tragical.  143 

our  cash.  I've  bore  enough  from  them  Danes.  To 
think  that  stuck-up  Faustiny  had  the  impudence  to  fling 
one  of  her  nasty  tomatuses  at  me  in  the  street,  the  trol 
lop  !  " 

John  uttered  a  lugubrious  whine,  and  dropped  his 
hands  from  the  noose  as  if  he  had  half  a  mind  to  leave  it 
where  it  was,  get  up,  and  finish  the  hanging. 

"  So  I  KNOW  now  'twas  one  of  the  Danes  that  tied  'em 
onto  our  door  !  And  only  think  !  she  had  the  meanness 
to  twit  me  of  'em  'fore  Mr.  Parker  !  Oh  !  only  give  me 
a  chance,  and  I'll  make  her  and  Abel  smart  !  I'd  be 
willin'  to  lose  a  little  money,  if  I  could  prove  Abel  Dane 
had  stole  it.  Come,  John  I  don't  have  that  mopin'  face 
on.  You  look  blue  as  a  whetstun.  And  don't  you  go  to 
hangin'  yourself  ag'in,  if  you  expect  me  to  help  you  down, 
for  I  shan't."  Here  Prudence,  who,  in  her  excitement  on 
the  subject  of  her  neighbors  and  their  insulting  ways, 
had  held  the  pocket-book  open,  commenced  a  more  care 
ful  examination  of  its  contents.  "  Gracious ! "  she 
screamed. 

"  "Was't  a  spider  ? "  inquired  the  cooper,  in  a  weak 
voice.  For  Prudence,  with  all  her  strength  of  charac 
ter  and  robustness  of  frame,  had  a  horror  of  spiders, 
and  he  was  used  to  hearing  her  shriek  at  them. 

"  That  bill,  it's  gone  !  "We  have  been  robbed  !  "  Again 
she  turned  over  the  money.  "  Sure's  the  world,  John  ! 
'thout  you  have  took  it.  Have  you,  sir  ?  " 

John,  who  had  succeeded  in  removing-  his  uncomfort 
able  cravat,  was  resting  the  pole  on  his  knee,  and 


144  Neighbors'   Wives. 

meekly  rubbing  his  throttle,  with  a  most  piteous  ex 
pression.  "No,  Prudy;  I  hain't,"  he  answered,  taking 
no  interest. 

"  Then,  oh  !  "  Vengeance  gleamed  in  Mrs.  Apjohn's 
eyes.  "  The  bill  ain't  lost;  for  we  can  both  swear  to't, 
and  recover  it  as  stolen  property.  I  left  it  in  Parker's 
hands ;  he  must  look  to  Hodge,  and  Hodge  must  look  to 
Abel;  and  Abel, — let  him  be  prepared  to  give  a  pretty 
strict  account  of  how  he  Come  by  that  bill,  or  it'll  go 
hard  with  him  !  He'll  have  trouble,  or  I'll  miss  my 
guess  !  A  man  that  would  serve  us  sech  a  trick  with  the 
tomatuses  would  hook  our  money.  O  Faustiny  !  Fans- 
tiny  !  you'll  come  down  from  your  high-heeled  shoes  I 
you'll  haul  in  your  horns  !  " 

And  Prudence,  still  reeking  from  her  recent  exertions, 
set  oft'  again  at  full  spe.ed  for  Mr.  Parker's  office,  —  the 
cooper  rolling  his  eyes  after  her  with  feeble  astonish 
ment,  foreboding  fresh  woes,  but  scarcely  comprehend 
ing  the  seriousness  of  her  charges  and  threats  against 
the  Danes. 


The  Arrest.  145 


XYL 

THE  ARREST. 

ABEL,  flattering  himself  that  his  pecuniary  difficul 
ties  were  ended,  sat  down  that  evening  to  enjoy  himself. 

"  Thank  Providence,  I've  weathered  this  storm. 
Though  I  thought  I  was  going  to  have  another  little 
squall  this  afternoon.  I  had  a  lawyer's  letter,  —  from 
Mr.  Parker,  —  and  what  do  you  think  he  wanted  ?  " 

Fancy  Faustina's  alarm  at  hearing  that  name,  and 
seeing  Abel's  honest  eyes  look  over  the  tea-table  at  her, 
as  he  put  the  question. 

"  You  needn't  be  so  frightened,"  he  laughed.  "  I  was 
a  little  bit  startled  myself,  though,  till  I  ran  up  to 
Parker's  office  and  found  out  what  the  trouble  was.  It 
seems  Mrs.  Apjohn  is  determined  to  be  revenged  on  me 
for  an  offence  I  never  dreamed  of  committing.  She. 
won't  believe  it  possible  that  anybody  else  could  see  what 
was  done  in  our  garden  last  Sunday,  and  contrive  a 
sorry  joke  to  remind  her  of  it;  but  I  must  have  done  it ! 
And  how  do  you  suppose  she  has  gone  to  work  to  pay 
me  ?  " 

"  I  can't  imagine  I  "  said  Faustina. 

"  I  laughed  in  Parker's  face  when  he  told  me.     She 
13 


146  Neighbor's  Wives. 

accuses  me  of  a  robbery.     At  least  she  claims  that  a  bill 
I  gave  Hodge  last  night  was  stolen  from  her  !  " 

"  "Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  ?  "  said  Faustina. 

"  Ridiculous,  isn't  it  ?  I  told  Parker  I  wasn't  going  to 
submit  to  any  annoyance  from  that  source.  I  referred 
him  to  Deacon  Cole,  from  whom  I  had  all  the  large  bills 
that  I  paid  to  Hodge.  But  what  is  curious,"  added 
Abel,  "I  can't  remember  receiving  that  particular  bill, 
though  I  noticed  it  when  I  was  settling  with  Hodge  last 
night.  Here  !  hello  1  you're  making  my  cup  run  over  ! " 

"  What  was  I  thinking  of  ?  "  And  the  trembling  wo 
man,  to  make  matters  worse,  instead  of  pouring  the 
superfluous  liquid  into  the  bowl,  turned  it  into  the 
cream-pitcher. 

"  I  should  think  you  had  been  accused  of  stealing,  and 
might  be  guilty,"  Abel  jestingly  said.  Then,  as  he 
watched  her,  a  grave  suspicion  crossed  his  mind,  —  that, 
notwithstanding  her  positive  denial  of  the  fact  in  the 
morning,  it  might  be  through  some  complicity  or  indis 
cretion  on  her  part  that  the  affront  for  which  vengeance 
was  now  threatened  had  been  put  upon  the  Apjohns, 
and  that  her  agitation  arose  from  the  consciousness  of 
having  thus  brought  him  into  danger. 

"  Faustina,"  said  he,  with  deep  seriousness  and  kind 
liness,  "  if  we  are  aware  of  having  committed  any  fault 
by  which  our  neighbors  are  aggrieved,  we  ought  to 
acknowledge  it,  and,  if  possible,  make  reparation  for  it. 
The  honestest  course  is  the  wisest.  A  word  of  frank 
avowal  now  may  save  a  world  of  vexation  and  vain 


The  Arrest.  147 

regret  hereafter.  At  least,  do  not  keep  anything  from 
me;  but,  I  beg  of  you,  if  you  have  anything  on  your 
mind  that  I  ought  to  know,  speak  it  now." 

It  seemed  that  Faustina  could  not  resist  this  earnest 
appeal.  She  felt  that  her  husband  was,  after  all,  her 
best,  her  only  friend;  and  she  longed  to  confess  to  him, 
and  throw  herself  upon  his  generosity  and  mercy.  But 
she  remembered  her  last  interview  with  Tasso,  who  had 
counselled  her  by  no  means  to  avow  her  misdeed  to  her 
husband  or  to  any  one,  but  persistently  to  deny  it, 
whatever  happened. 

"  That's  the  only  way  when  you've  once  got  into  a 
scrape,"  said  Tasso.  "It's  bad;  but  you  must  lie  it 
out." 

These  words  she  recalled,  and  again  the  dread  of 
Abel's  condemnation  dismayed  her,  and  Tasso's  predic 
tion,  that  the  Apjohns,  though  they  should  try,  could 
prove  nothing,  comforted  her;  and  the  false  wife,  in  an 
evil  moment,  looked  up  at  her  deceived  husband  with . 
feigned  wonder,  and  replied,  — 

"  I  can't  think  of  anything  I've  done,  Abel.  Why  do 
you  ask  ?  " 

"Well,  then,  never  mind,"  said  Abel.  "I'm  not 
suspicious;  but  I  feel  extreme  anxiety  to  be  entirely 
free  from  offence  toward  my  neighbors,  and  I  put  as 
strict  questions  to  my  own  heart  as  I  put  to  you.  Con 
sciousness  of  being  in  the  wrong  makes  me  a  perfect 
coward ;  but  let  me  be  assured  of  the  righteousness  of 
my  course,  and  I  can  face  any  misfortune.  The  longer 


148  Neighbors'  Wives. 

I  live,  the  better  I  know  what  a  precious  refuge  truth 
is,  and  what  a  den  of  serpents  is  falsehood." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  know  it !  "  assented  Faustina,  with  the 
accent  and  the  aspect  of  a  saint,  and  with  her  soul  in 
that  den,  amidst  the  writhing  and  the  hissing,  at  the 
moment. 

Abel  was  convinced;  for  that  creature  could  assume 
a  seeming  that  might  have  deceived  even  the  elect;  and, 
shoving  back  his  chair  with  satisfaction,  he  called  to 
Melissa,  who  showed  her  face  at  the  door  with  Ebby  in 
her  arms. 

"  Come  to  your  supper.  Give  me  the  young  gentle 
man.  Did  you  leave  mother  comfortable  ?  Ho,  you 
Goliath  of  babies  ! "  —  tossing  the  delighted  Ebby. 
"Ha,  you  fat  pig  !"  — tickling  him.  "Ebby  has  no 
cares  yet  to  work  down  his  flesh.  Care  is  a  jack-plane, 
that  takes  thick  shavings  from  the  breast  and  ribs. 
You  little  sultan  !  "  —  standing  him  up  on  his  knees 
in  a  royal  attitude;  for  he  was  a  proud  and  splendid 
child.  "  Wonder  if  my  little  fairy  will  ever  be  a  man, 
and  have  whiskers,  and  a  little  boy  to  pull  'em,  —  a  real, 
plump,  loving  little  boy,  to  make  him  forget  all  his 
troubles  when  he  comes  home  at  night  ?  "  And,  with  a 
sense  of  his  own  blessedness,  and  with  a  gush  of  affec 
tion,  he  clasped  the  happy  boy  to  his  heart.  "  Come, 
now  let's  go  and  see  grandma." 

"  Poor  thick  ga'ma  ! "  said  Ebby.  with  his  chubby  fin 
gers  in  the  paternal  hair. 

"Yes,  poor  sick  grandma;  and  we'll  go  and  make  her 
well." 


The  Arrest.  149 

Abel  had  risen,  and  was  carrying  Ebby  gayly  on  his 
arm,  when,  as  they  passed  the  door,  there  came  a  rap 
upon  it.  Faustina,  at  the  sound,  grew  pale, — more  ap 
prehensive,  now,  of  fateful  visitors,  than  Cooper  John 
himself.  But  Abel,  joyous  of  countenance,  and  free  of 
soul,  feeling,  like  Romeo,  "  his  bosom's  lord  sit  lightly 
in  his  throne,"  —  ignorant  that  the  gleam,  which  illu 
mined  that  moment  in  his  life,  was  not  sunshine,  but  a 
flash  out  of  the  gathering  thunder-cloud,  —  the  young 
father,  holding  up  his  boy  with  one  hand,  threw  open 
the  door  with  the  other,  and  met  the  sheriff  face  to  face. 

The  sheriff  was  a  kind-hearted  man,  and,  at  sight  of 
the  happy  domestic  scene,  which  it  was  his  thankless  of 
fice  to  disturb,  no  doubt  his  feelings  were  touched.  He 
shook  hands  with  Abel,  —  for  they  were  well  acquainted, 
—  and  gave  a  hard  finger  to  the  fat  little  hand  which,  at 
the  paternal  instigation,  Ebby  bashfully  stuck  out  to  him. 

"  Come  in,  won't  you  ?  "  cried  Abel,  thinking  of  "him 
only  as  friend  Wilkins,  and  not  once  connecting  him 
with  his  commission. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  better  step  out  a  minute,"  answered 
Wilkins.  "  I've  a  disagreeable  errand  to  do." 

"  Here,  mamma  I  take  baby  I "  cried  Abel.  But  baby 
did  not  want  to  go  to  mamma.  And  mamma  had  no 
word  or  look  for  baby,  in  the  consternation  of  thinking 
the  sheriff  was  there  to  arrest  some  one,  —  it  might  be 
Abel, — it  might  be  herself!  "Well,  then,  where's  his 
little  shawl  ?  and  papa's  hat  ?  We'll  go  out  and  see  the 
man.  Hurrah  ! " 
13* 


150  Neighbors'  Wives. 

"  Co-ah  ! "  crowed  Ebby,  throwing  up  his  arms  with 
delight.  He  liked  papa  best  of  anybody  at  all  times; 
and  now  he  and  papa  were  going  to  have  an  adventure. 

Sheriff  Wilkins  was  sorry  to  see  the  boy  come  riding 
out  in  triumph  on  his  father's  arm.  He  felt  it  would  be 
easier  to  do  his  errand  out  of  sight  of  wife  and  child. 
•'He  has  such  a  pretty  wife !  and  such  a  beautiful 
child  ! "  thought  sheriff  Wilkins. 

It  was  a  moonlight  evening;  and  there,  in  the  quiet 
and  white  shine,  with  the  shadows  of  the  pear-tree  mot 
tling  the  ground  at  their  feet,  spotting  old  Turk's 
shaggy  back,  as  he  snuffed  suspiciously  at  the  officer's 
shins,  and  flinging  an  impalpable  shadow-crown  upon 
King  Ebby's  head,  —  in  low  voices,  friendly  and  busi 
ness-like,  the  two  men  talked,  and  the  errand  was  done; 
Faustina,  meanwhile,  peering  eagerly  from  the  kitchen- 
window,  and  those  other  witnesses,,  the  stars,  looking 
placidly  down  through  the  misty  skylight  of  heaven. 

Then  Abel,  bearing  the  babe,  returned  into  the  house; 
and  Faustina,  like  the  guilty  creature  she  was,  started 
back  from  the  window,  and  stood,  white  and  still  as 
the  moonlight  without,  waiting  to  hear  the  worst. 

Abel  came  up  to  her,  with  a  curious  expression  of 
amusement  and  disgust,  —  a  smile  married  to  a  scowl. 

"  It  grows  interesting  !  "  he  said. 

"  How  ?  what  ?  "  whispered  Faustina. 

"  I  am  arrested  I  "  growled  Abel. 

"Arrested  !  "  Faustina  tried  to  echo;  but  her  voice 
refused  to  articulate. 


The  Arrest.  151 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  —  I  am  not  I  "  added  Abel,  with 
mocking  levity.  "  It's  such  a  neat  revenge  !  Mrs.  Ap- 
john  is  welcome  to  all  she  can  make  out  of  it.  Wonder 
how  it  will  seem  to  go  to  jail  ?  How  would  you  like  to 
go  with  me  ?  " 

For  an  instant,  Faustina  thought  she  was  arrested 
too,  and  that  this  was  his  mild  way  of  breaking  it  to  her. 

"Fudge,  child  !  "  he  laughed;  "  don't  take  it  so  seri 
ously.  I  thought  it  would  be  a  good  joke  for  you  to 
insist  on  keeping  me  company,  and  to  take  Ebby  along 
with  us.  I  guess  we  could  enjoy  ourselves  as  well  in 
jail  as  the  Apjohns  out  of  it." 

"  Ebby  go  !  "  cooed  the  enterprising  infant,  thinking 
some  pleasant  journey  was  contemplated. 

"No,  Ebby  can't  go;  he  must  stay  at  home  with 
mamma,  to  take  good  care  of  grandma.  She  may  as 
well  not  know  it,"  continued  Abel,  the  smile  dying,  and 
leaving  the  scowl  a  grim  widower.  "  It  would  disturb 
her  too  much.  I  almost  wish  Turk  had  finished  Mrs. 
Apjohn  when  he  was  about  it.  I  shall  get  off,  or,  at  all 
events,  get  bail  in  the  morning;  but  to-night  I  may  have 
to  sleep  in  jail." 

"  In  jail !  O  Abel !  "  said  Faustina,  relieved  to  learn 
that  it  was  he,  and  not  herself,  who  must  go,  yet  terrified 
at  the  consequences  of  her  folly. 

"  There !  don't  be  childish  !  " 

Abel  put  his  right  arm  about  her  tenderly,  still  hold 
ing  Ebby  with  the  other. 

"  I  don't  care  a  cent  on  my  own  account.    I'd  just  as 


152  Neighbors'    Wives. 

lief  go  to  jail  as  not.  You  and  I  are  not  to  blame,  and 
why  should  we  be  disturbed  ?  Mrs.  Apjohn,  or  whoever 
is  to  blame,  will  get  the  worst  of  it.  Or  perhaps  you 
think  we  shall  be  disgraced  ?  Villain  of  a  husband,  to 
put  his  innocent  young  wife  to  such  a  trial !  You  for 
give  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  —  Very  magnanimous  in  Faustina.  — 
"  But  what  —  what  proof  is  there  ?  " 

"  Proof ! "  exclaimed  Abel.  "  Do  you  think  there  is  any 
proof  ?  Do  you  —  heavens  and  earth,  Faustina  !  —  do 
you  imagine  I  am  a  scoundrel  ?  " 

"  No,  Abel  I  But  if  you  had  —  taken  money,"  she 
gasped  out,  —  "I  could  forgive  you." 

"  I  should  despise  you  if  you  could  !  "  he  answered, 
haughtily.  "  I  could  never  forgive  myself." 

"  But  —  you  forgave  Mrs.  Apjohn,"  she  reminded  him, 
almost  pleadingly. 

"That's  another  thing.  A  few  tomatoes.  But 
money  !  —  I  could  no  more  take  my  neighbor's  cash 
than  I  could  take  his  life ;  and  I  don't  suppose  anybody 
really  thinks  I  could.  Deacon  Cole  has  no  recollection 
of  paying  me  the  bill  Mrs.  Apjohn  says  was  stolen  from 
her ;  and  they  have  got  up  an  absurd  story  about  finding 
the  envelope  of  one  of  my  letters  in  their  house,  —  proof 
positive  that  I  got  in  and  lost  it  there  when  I  stole  the 
money  !  That's  the  proof,  as  you  call  it.  Come,  be 
yourself,  Faustina,  and  let  me  see  a  hopeful  smile  on 
your  face  when  I  go.  What's  a  clear  conscience  good 
for,  if  it  can't  sustain  us  at  such  times  ?  " 


The  Arrest.  153 

"  Oh,  I  am  sustained  1 "  Faustina  tried  the  hopeful 
smile,  but  it  was  a  failure.  "  I  know  my  dear,  noble 
husband  is  innocent ! "  And  she  put  her  lovely  arms 
about  his  neck  and  kissed  him. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said,  more  convinced  than  ever  of  late 
that  she  loved  him.  "  I  am  on  parole,  and  Wilkins  is 
waiting  for  me.  Tell  mother  I  have  business,  and  put 
her  to  bed.  And,  Faustina,  whatever  occurs,  let  us  be 
true  to  each  other  and  to  our  own  consciences,  and  all 
will  be  well." 

"  "We  will  !  we  will ! "  she  murmured,  kissing  him 
again  with  lips  as  chill  as  dew. 

"  Now,  mamma,  take  Ebby,"  said  Abel,  with  moist 
eyes. 

"  No  !  no  !  Ebby  go  !  Ebby  go  1 " 

"  Oh,  Ebby  can't  go  with  papa  to-night.  Mamma  take 
him." 

"  No  !  no  !  no  !  "  remonstrated  the  child,  stoutly. 
And  he  flirted  his  ungrateful  hands,  and  kicked  his  un- 
filial  feet,  when  she  reached  to  receive  him;  and  lament 
ed,  and  screamed  "  Ebby  go  !  Ebby  go  ! "  with  ungov 
ernable  persistence. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  said  Abel,  with  strong  parental 
emotion.  "  It  would  almost  seem  that  his  wise  little 
spirit  foresees  some  greater  wrong  than  we  suspect. 
The  instincts  even  of  babes  are  so  wonderful.  See  I  he 
won't  let  me  go  without  him  !  " 

And  Abel  looked  proud  and  gratified,  though  per 
plexed,  when  the  subtle-sensed  child,  shunning  the  guilty 


154  Neighbors'    Wives. 

parent  with  all  his  might,  put  his  arms  about  the  neck  of 
the  innocent,  and  hugged  him  with  all  his  heart  and 
strength. 

"  He  knows  !  "  cried  Abel,  with  laughter  and  tears,  lit 
tle  guessing  how  much  more  there  was  in  the  divine  in 
stincts  of  the  infant  than  even  his  words  had  expressed. 
"  There  now,  Ebby,  be  papa's  good  boy.  Melissa,  take 
him." 

Then  Ebby  loosed  his  hold,  stayed  only  to  kiss  the 
father  he  loved,  one  long  kiss  over  his  whiskers,  put  out 
his  hands  to  Melissa,  and,  without  a  murmur,  only  the 
corners  of  the  little  serious  mouth  drawn  down,  went 
to  her  unresistingly,  though  he  still  refused  the  hospi 
tality  of  the  maternal  bosom. 

Faustina  was  cut  to  -the  heart.  For,  though  she  had 
never  loved  her  beautiful  boy  too  well,  she  was  jealous 
of  his  affection ;  and  to  feel,  at  this  time,  when  she  was 
conscious  of  having  forfeited  her  husband's  esteem,  that 
neither  had  she  any  part  in  her  child's  love,  made  her 
seem  to  herself  worse  than  a  widow  and  childless. 

"  'By-'by,  Ebby  !  —  Keep  good  heart,  Faustina  !  " 
These  were  Abel's  parting  words;  and,  rejoining  the 
sheriff,  he  walked  off  gayly  with  him  to  the  magistrate's. 
But  Faustina,  with  an  indescribable  sense  of  heaviness, 
loneliness,  and  guilt,  —  wishing  herself  dead,  wishing 
herself  where  she  might  never  see  husband,  or  child, 
or  any  face  she  ever  knew,  again,  —  shrank  back  into 
the  house,  with  the  long  night  of  remorse  and  dread 
before  her. 


The  Arrest.  155 


XVII. 

* 

FAUSTINA  CONSOLES  HERSELF. 

THE  long,  dreary  night !  how  could  she  endure  it  ? 
Never  a  woman  of  courage,  or  of  resources  within  her 
self  against  ennui,  no  wonder  that  the  coming  lonesome 
hours  were  awful  as  phantoms  to  her.  She  gazed  out 
of  the  windows;  the  moonlight  and  the  stillness  were 
chill  and  forbidding.  She  could  not  content  herself 
a  moment  with  the  old  lady;  Ebby  was  no  comfort; 
and  Melissa,  who  knew  her  secret,  she  was  beginning  to 
hate  and  fear.  She  went  to  her  chamber;  its  solitari 
ness  was  intolerable;  a  gust  from  the  door,  as  she  closed 
it,  extinguished  her  light,  and  the  moonshine  came  be 
tween  the  curtains  like  the  face  of  a  ghost. 

Pitiful  for  one  who  at  all  times  loved  company  so 
well,  and  was  never  willingly  alone  an  hour  in  her  life  ! 
What  would  she  not  resort  to  for  relief  from  her  own 
fears  and  imaginings  ?  She  would  have  swallowed 
laudanum,  if  she  had  had  any.  She  thought  of  a  bottle 
of  brandy  in  the  kitchen  closet.  That  would  do.  She 
would  stupefy  herself. 

Melissa  was  in  the  kitchen,  suffering  great  distress  of 
mind  at  the  occurrences  of  the  evening. 


156  Neighbors'  Wives. 

"  O  Mis'  Dane  ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  ain't  it  too  bad  he 
has  to  go  to  jail !  And  we  know  he  didn't  take  the 
money ! " 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  "  said  Faustina.  "  Of  course  he 
didn't;  and  they  can't  do  anything  with  him." 

"  Can't  they  ?  "  cried  Melissa,  eagerly  ;  for  she  had 
felt  the  remorse  of  an  accomplice  in  sharing  Faustina's 
secret.  "  Oh,  I'm  glad  !  " 

"•  You  stupid  girl !  "  —  Faustina  seized  her  arm.  "  Me 
lissa  !  Melissa  !  "  in  a  menacing  whisper,  "  hear  what  I 
say  !  As  you  value  your  oath,  as  you  value  your  life, 
never  breathe  a  syllable  of  what  you  know ! " 

"  La,  ma'am !  "  —  with  open-mouthed  astonishment, — 
"  what  will  happen  to  me  if  I  do  ?  " 

"You  will  die!  You  will  die  a  most  sudden  and 
dreadful  death  ! " 

"  La,  ma'am  !  will  I  though  ?  Oh  dear  !  "  And  Melissa 
began  to  whimper  with  fright,  thinking  her  mistress 
must  surely  be  in  league  with  supernatural  avengers. 

"  There  !  stop  crying  !  They  shan't  hurt  you,  if  you 
mind  me."  There  was  something  awfully  suggestive  in 
the  indefinite,  mysterious  plural  they.  "  Only  keep  your 
oath,  Melissa  !  An  oath's  a  shocking  thing  to  break. 
Nobody  is  safe  afterwards." 

"  Why,  what  happens  to  'em  ?  " 

"  Some  are  sent  to  prison,  —  lucky  if  they  ever  get  out 
again.  Some  are  struck  by  lightning.  Some  are  mur 
dered  in  broad  daylight,  nobody  ever  knows  how.  Some 
are  found  dead  in  their  beds,  though  as  well  the  night 


Faustina   Consoles  Herself.  157 

before  as  you  are  this  minute.  A  great  many  disappear, 
and  are  never  heard  of  again ;  —  it's  supposed  the  gob 
lins  catch  them." 

"  Oh,  la,  ma'am  I  how  you  scare  me  !  " 

"  You  needn't  be  scared,  only  keep  your  oath.  Ke- 
member  !  Kow  go  and  put  Ebby  to  bed,  and  see  to  the 
old  woman.  I  can't,  —  I'm  sick.  Where's  that  brandy  ?  " 

The  brandy  was  got.  Melissa  was  gone.  And  Faus 
tina  in  her  madness  began  to  drink.  She  placed  the 
bottle  on  the  table,  with  water  and  sugar,  and  sat  down, 
deliberately  and  systematically  to  lay  siege  to  the  castle 
of  oblivion,  of  which  drunkenness  opens  the  gates. 

"  Hillo  I  by  George,  I  cotched  ye  at  it  this  time  !  " 

Faustina  started  up  with  trepidation;  but  when  she 
saw  what  visitor  had  entered  so  softly  as  to  stand  beside 
her  before  she  was  aware,  she  was  pacified,  and  sat 
down  again. 

"  I've  an  excruciating  toothache,  Tasso  !  I  was  put 
ting  a  little  brandy  into  it." 

"  I've  an  excruciating  toothache,  too,"  said  Tasso. 
"  I'd  like  to  put  a  little  brandy  into  mine." 

The  liquor  had  begun  to  do  its  office.  Faustina  was 
delighted  to  have  company.  She  was  social;  she  was 
ardent;  she  wrung  Tasso's  hand  confidentially,  and 
brought  him  a  glass  from  the  closet. 

"  Seem'  Abel's  off,  thought  I'd  drop  in.  Hi,  hi  ! 
'tain't  a  bad  joke  after  all !  Got  him  up  'fore  the  jus 
tice  !  Couldn't  help  laughing  !  "  And  Tasso  illustrated 
with  a  giggle,  which  he  quenched  with  a  dash  of  sweet- 
14 


158  Neighbors*  Wives. 

ened  brandy  and  water.  "  That's  good  liquor,  I  swow  ! " 
He  smacked,  and  filled  again,  confirming  his  verdict,  — 
being  no  doubt  a  discriminating  judge  of  strong  waters; 
for  he  had  tended  bar  in  Boston  till  he  was  suspected  of 
pilfering  from  the  drawer,  when  he  retired  at  his  em 
ployer's  urgent  request,  seconded  by  a  boot  which 
accelerated  his  progress  down  the  stairs.  He  had  lost 
his  situation,  but  retained  his  taste. 

«"  It's  dreadful,  Tasso  !  "  said  Faustina.  "  He  won't 
come  home  to-night,  I  suppose.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've 
come  ;  it's  so  horrible  lonesome  here  !  Let's  go  into 
the  sitting-room;  for  Melissa'll  be  back  in  a  minute. 
Bring  the  sugar." 

"  Toothache  hain't  a  chance  in  this  house,"  observed 
Tasso,  smilingly  holding  up  the  bottle  to  the  light. 

"  Come  !  I've  so  many  things  to  tell  you  ! "  And 
Faustina  led  the  way,  carrying  the  pitcher  of  water 
and  the  candle. 


His  House,  his  Home  no  more.        159 


XVIII. 

UHE    ENTERED    IN    HIS    HOUSE,    HIS     HOME   NO    MORE." 

LATER  in  the  night,  when  the  village  streets  were 
silent,  and  the  village  lights  mostly  extinguished,  a  man 
appeared  briskly  walking  across  the  common,  in  the 
moonlight. 

It  was  Abel  Dane.  He  was  softly  whistling  a  lively 
air,  to  which  his  feet  kept  time.  He  had  not  yet  seen 
the  inside  of  the  big  stone  jug,  as  the  jail  was  called, 
and  didn't  think  now  that  he  ever  would.  He  had  had 
the  good  fortune  to  gain  a  hearing  before  the  magis 
trate  that  night,  and  to  get  admitted  to  bail.  Deacon 
Cole  himself  had  volunteered  to  be  his  surety.  Every 
body  was  inclined  to  take  a  jocular  view  of  the  charge 
against  him.  And  Abel  was  happy;  congratulating 
himself  that  Mrs.  Apjohn's  malice  was  baffled,  and  enjoy 
ing,  in  pleasant  anticipation,  Faustina's  surprise  and 
delight  at  his  unexpected  return. 

For  Abel,  poor  fellow,  was  so  eager  to  snatch  at  every 
bubble  of  circumstance  in  which  his  hope  or  fancy  saw 
glimmer  some  floating,  unsubstantial  image  of  domestic 
happiness  I  He  was  rushing  to  grasp  a  very  large  and 
eitremely  flattering  bubble  of  this  description  now.  His 


160  Neighbors'  Wives. 

wife's  distress,  on  seeing  him  torn  from  her  embrace 
and  dragged  away  to  jail,  —  so  to  speak,  —  had  moved 
him  greatly.  "  After  all,"  he  thought, "  she  loves  me.  A 
change  is  taking  place  in  her  character,  I  sincerely  hope. 
She  never  manifested  so  much  concern  for  my  welfare  be 
fore.  And  she  said  she  could  forgive  me,  even  if  I  had 
taken  money  !  Such  charity,  such  affection,  I  did  not 
expect  to  find  in  her.  Who  knows  but  the  faults  of  her 
spoiled  girlhood  and  false  education  may  be  cured,  and 
she  may  prove  a  true  wife  and  mother  after  all  ?  God 
grant  it !  "  he  murmured  aloud,  his  eyes  upturned  mistily 
to  the  moonbeams,  his  features  glowing  and  surcharged 
with  the  emotion  of  his  prayer. 

He  hurried  on.  He  saw  a  light  in  his  own  house. 
"  Poor  girl !  she  is  too  anxious  to  sleep  !  She  could 
not  go  to  bed  and  rest  while  I  was  supposed  to  be 
locked  up  in  stone  walls.  Foolish  child  !  But  I  am 
glad  she  is  wakeful;  I  wouldn't  have  her  make  light  of 
my  arrest,  though  I  do.  I  can  imagine  how  lonesome 
she  is,  sitting  up,  thinking  of  me.  I'll  go  softly  to  the 
door,  and  surprise  her.  Now  I  shall  know,  —  I'll  take 
her  behavior  as  a  sign,  —  whether  she  really  loves  me." 

He  drew  near.  He  heard  —  what  ?  Laughter  I  That 
did  not  please  him  so  well. 

"Who  has  she  got  there?"  He  listened.  "Tasso 
Smith  !  " 

He  went  to  the  kitchen  door;  it  was  unfastened.  He 
entered,  and  closed  it  after  him.  The  moon  lighted  his 
steps,  and  he  advanced,  stepping  noiselessly,  to  the 


His  House,  his  Home  no  more.        161 

sitting-room  door.  His  purpose  to  afford  Faustina  a 
surprise  had  become  a  dark  and  deadly  purpose,  and 
the  blackness  of  darkness  clothed  his  soul.  He  waited ; 
for,  in  that  first  terrible  revulsion,  he  felt  that  Tasso 
could  not  fall  into  his  hands  without  danger,  and  he 
feared  the  violence  of  his  own  rage  in  confronting 
Faustina.  He  was  determined  to  be  calm ;  yet  it  was 
not  easy  to  get  his  wrath  under  control,  with  the  intol 
erable  tittering  from  within  irritating  it  like  sputters 
of  vitriol. 

When  his  hand  was  quite  steady,  he  found  the  door 
knob,  touched  it  warily,  turned  it  charily,  opened  it 
with  silence  and  caution,  and  laid  bare  the  scene  within. 

Do  you  think  this  dishonorable  in  Abel  ?  No  matter. 
In  his  place  you  would  very  likely  have  acted  dishon 
orably  too. 

The  scene:  A  table,  with  the  tools  of  intoxication 
upon  it;  beside  it  two  chairs,  unsuitably  near  together. 
In  that  nearest  the  door  you  saw  the  nice  youth,  Tasso 
Smith,  —  one  hand  encircling  a  glass  which  rested  on 
the  edge  of  the  table,  the  other  resting  familiarly  on 
the  back  of  the  chair  beyond,  —  his  countenance,  like 
silly  cream,  wrinkled  up  with  the  last  inanity  of  tipsy 
merriment. 

In  that  other  chair  sat  Faustina,  her  eyes  swimming 
with  an  unmistakable  tendency  to  double-vision,  and 
her  lovely  head  so  tipsy  that  she  could  hardly  resist  its 
proclivity  to  rest  on  Tasso's  shoulder.  A  pretty  pic 
ture  for  a  husband  ! 

14* 


162  Neighbors'  Wives. 

One  minute,  —  two  minutes,  the  petite  comedy  went 
on;  two  unconscious  actors  playing  their  parts  with 
perfect  naturalness  and  abandonment,  such  as  you  sel 
dom  see  on  the  stage,  before  an  intensely  interested 
audience  of  one. 

Then  you  might  have  heard  a  fall.  Mr.  Smith  heard 
it  as  soon  as  anybody.  Indeed,  something  had  hap 
pened  to  that  individual.  He  had  tumbled,  in  a  most 
astonishingly  sudden  and  mysterious  manner,  under  the 
table.  Over  him  stood  Abel,  and  in  Abel's  hand  was 
the  chair  which  had  been  jerked  from  beneath  him. 
And  there  was  danger  in  the  atmosphere,  as  the  sa 
gacious  youth  sniffed  readily  when  once  he  put  out  his 
head  carefully  from  under  the  table  and  carefully  drew 
it  back  again.  He  had  done  curing  the  toothache,  and 
done  tittering,  too,  for  that  night. 

But  Faustina  laughed  on,  not  perceiving  the  spectre 
of  wrath  that  had  stalked  in  behind  her,  and  now  stood 
holding  her  companion's  tilted  chair.  She  looked  down 
by  the  table,  and  was  presently  aware  of  a  pair  of  per 
pendicular  legs,  not  Tasso's.  Or  was  Mr.  Smith  double, 
and  had  he  four  legs  ?  He  appeared  to  be  rapidly  crawl 
ing  off  with  a  horizontal  pair,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to 
be  standing  firmly  on  the  two  at  her  side. 

She  looked  up,  and  was  shocked  into  something  like 
sobriety  by  the  apparition  of  her  husband. 

"  Abel !  —  why  —  where  —  I  thought  you  —  is  it  morn 
ing  ?  "  And  she  winked  to  see  if  it  was  day,  thinking 
he  had  passed  the  night  in  jail  and  come  home  and 
caught  her  carousing. 


His  House,  his  Home  no  more.        163 

Abel  stood  motionless  and  white,  still  clinching  the 
chair,  as  if  diabolically  tempted  to  break  it  over  the 
head  of  Tasso,  rising  from  behind  the  table  and  retreat 
ing,  with  the  grimace  of  a  scared  monkey,  to  the  door. 
But  with  extraordinary  self-control,  he  neither  spoke 
nor  stirred  until  Mr.  Smith  had  slunk  out;  then  he 
kicked  his  hat  after  him,  —  for  that  young  gentleman 
had  quite  forgotten  that  he  was  bareheaded,  —  broke 
the  cane  that  stood  in  the  corner,  and  threw  the  splin 
ters  into  the  retiring  face.  Then,  having  closed  and 
locked  the  door,  he  turned  and  confronted  Faustina. 


164  Neighbors'  Wives. 


XIX. 

HUSBAND  AND  WIFE. 

" WHY  —  Abel  —  what's  the  matter?"  gasped  the 
wretched  woman,  trying  to  gild  her  guilty  fright  with 
smiles. 

"  My  wife  I  —  disgraced  forever  I " 

These  words,  uttered  incoherently,  with  suppressed 
fury,  carried  to  the  heart  of  the  half-sobered  Faustina 
the  stunning  conviction  that  all  had  been  discovered. 
She  slipped  down  upon  her  knees  before  him. 

"  Mercy  !  mercy  !  Don't  cast  me  off,  Abel,  —  don't  I 
I  will  tell  you  everything  !  " 

"  Where  did  you  get  these  trinkets  ?  "  For  the  jewels 
had  been  brought  out,  and  now  lay  on  the  table. 

"  I  bought  them,  Abel." 

"  You  bought  them  !    With  whose  money  ?  " 

"With  —  with  yours.  I  took  it  from  the  drawer. 
Yesterday  Tasso  came  and  showed  them  to  me,  and 
made  me  buy  them." 

"Faustina,  don't  dare  to  tell  me  anything  but  the 
truth  now  !  "  he  muttered,  wringing  her  wrist. 

"I  won't.  I'll  tell  you  everything.  But,  oh,  don't 
cast  me  off !  Don't  shame  me  before  the  world  !  I've 


Husband  and   Wife.  165 

been  a  bad  and  selfish  wife  to  you,  I  know;  but  I'll  be 
better.  Oh,  I'll  be  so  true  always,  always,  Abel !  if  you 
won't  expose  me  now." 

"  Speak  !  "  said  Abel,  —  hoarse,  bewildered,  chills  of  a 
strange  new  terror  creeping  over  him.  "What  have 
you  done  ?  " 

"I  was  so  frightened  afterward,  —  !  thought  you 
would  kill  me  when  you  missed  the  money  ! "  — 

"  How  much  was  it  ?  " 

"  Fifty  dollars." 

Abel  dropped  her  arm  and  staggered  back.  He  knew 
all.  No  need  for  her  to  tell  him  more.  But  she  talked 
on,  eager  in  self-excuse. 

"I  went  to  borrow  it  of  Mrs.  Apjohn.  But  she 
wasn't  there  when  I  took  it;  and  I  didn't  dare  to  go  and 
tell  her  of  it,  —  and  you  had  paid  the  money  to  Mr. 
Hodge,  —  and,  —  O  Abel !  I  have  been  so  wretched  !  If 
you  only  knew,  you  would  have  mercy  !  Don't  expose 
me  now,  and  cast  me  off !  —  don't  let  me  go  to  jail ! 
don't !  don't !  don't !  " 

In  the  most  abject  servility,  with  passionate  terror  and 
entreaty,  she  pleaded,  kneeling  and  wringing  her  hands. 
Abel  had  sat  down.  Under  the  calamity  that  had  smit 
ten  him,  he  could  not  stand.  He  felt  weak  and  shattered 
and  lost. 

"  Oh,  do  pity  me  !  "  she  prayed,  creeping  toward  him. 
"You  pity  others  !  You  forgave  Mrs.  Apjohn  the  to 
matoes.  She  is  nothing  to  you,  and  I  am  your  wife; 


166  Neighbors'  Wives. 

I 

and  such  a  wife  I  will  be  to  you,  O  Abel !  if  you  will 
only  be  merciful  to  me  now  1  " 

She  cut  her  knee  on  something  sharp.  It  was  Tasso's 
glass,  which  had  been  thrown  down  and  broken  when  he 
fell.  It  reminded  her  of  the  carousal  which  had  been 
interrupted.  Sobered  more  and  more,  she  felt  now  how 
unpardonable  that  scene  must  have  appeared  in  Abel's 
eyes. 

"  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  I  was  so  wretched,  I  felt 
such  remorse  when  you  were  gone.  I  thought  I  couldn't 
live  through  the  night.  I  was  wild,  frantic,  and  I  got 
the  brandy.  I  never  did  such  a  thing  before,  —  you 
know  I  never  did.  I  meant  to  kill  myself.  I  hoped  I 
should.  I  wish  I  had !  Then  Tasso  came  in.  There 
was  never  anything  more  between  us  than  you  saw  to 
night,  —  nor  half  so  much.  I  swear  it !  I'll  swear  it  on 
the  Bible,  and  call  Heaven  to  witness  !  It  was  the  bran 
dy,  it  was  the  brandy,  Abel  I  Oh,  don't  look  so  stony 
and  cruel  at  me;  for  I  see  my  fate  in  your  eyes  !  They 
are  like  dead  men's  eyes,  —  there's  no  compassion  in 
them.  Don't,  don't  look  at  me  so,  Abel !  "  And  she 
grovelled  at  his  feet. 

Still  he  made  no  motion,  but  sat  as  he  had  fallen,  with 
a  blind  and  frozen  look,  which  well  might  awe  Faustina. 

"  Abel  !  dear  Abel  !  my  husband  !  remember  how 
you  have  loved  me  1 " 

Her  voice,  which  had  been  wild  and  strong  in  its  elo 
quence  of  fear,  now  grew  tremulous  and  fond.  She 
kissed  his  feet.  She  wept  and  laughed.  "  Oh,  you  will 


Husband  and  Wife.  167 

love  me  again  !  You  do  love  me  !  Think  how  happy 
we  have  been  !  And  we  will  be  happier  now.  For  I 
shall  never  care  for  anybody  or  anything  but  you  after 
this.  If  you  only  forgive  me, —  and  I  know  you  will  1  "— 
looking  up  in  his  face  with  pleading  sweetness  and  tears. 
"  You  are  so  good,  Abel ! "  And  she  flung  herself  upon 
his  bosom,  kissing  and  clinging  with  the  witchery  she 
knew  so  well  how  to  use. 

But  Abel  was  inexorable.  Her  caresses  —  he  loathed 
them. 

"  Get  off !  "  said  he.  She  turned  from  him  with  such 
semblance  of  despair  that  he  could  not  but  relent  a 
little.  "  Go  to  bed.  You  are  not  yourself  to-night ; 
and  I  am  sick  !  In  the  morning  I  will  tell  you  what  I 
will  do." 

"  I  can't  go  till  you  forgive  me  ! "  she  answered, 
fawning  upon  him,  and  covering  his  hand  with  kisses. 
"  Why  do  you  say, '  Go  to  bed  ? '  It  was  always,  '  Come 
to  bedS  till  now.  —  Oh,  I  see  by  your  face,  so  cold,  so 
cold,  that  I  am  not  to  be  your  wife  any  more  ! " 

She  fell  upon  the  floor.  There  she  lay  motionless  and 
unnoticed  for  many  minutes.  Then  he  stooped,  sternly 
commanding  her,  and  lifted  her  up. 

"  Come  with  me  !  " 

"  Oh,  you  hurt  me,  Abel  I    Your  hand  is  iron  !  " 

"  There  is  iron  in  my  soul !  "  said  Abel. 

"  Pity  me,  pity  me,  Abel ! "  she  implored,  "  when  I 
suffer  so  ! " 


1 68  Neighbors'  Wives. 

"  You  suffer  !  And  I  ?  Who  will  pity  me  ?  Alone; 
and  the  ruins  fall  upon  me  !  " 

"  Dear  Abel,  I  pity  you.  Don't  look  so  terrible  I  You 
are  not  alone,  —  I  am  with  you." 

Fdr  a  minute  he  stood  in  a  sort  of  trance,  his  visage 
pallid  and  awful,  his  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy.  She  watched 
him,  in  dread  and  distress,  waiting  for  him  to  look  at 
her  and  speak. 

"  Faustina,"  he  said,  with  deep  and  strange  calmness 

—  but  there  was  something  sepulchral  in  his  voice, — 
"  do  you  know  that  I  am  under  bonds  to  answer  for 
your  crime?  " 

"  My  crime  I  "  she  gasped. 

"Oime  !  "  he  repeated.  "  It  is  worse  than  simple 
larceny,  —  it  is  house-breaking.  I  thought  it  an  idle  ac 
cusation  till  now.  Now  I  see  what  it  means.  It  means 
dishonor.  It  means  endless  disgrace.  It  means  trial, 
conviction,  sentence,  —  for  one  of  us.  Years  in  prison, 

—  for  one  of  us.    Does  any  one  know  of  your  guilt  ?  " 
"  No  one,  —  no  one  but  you.   And  you  will  spare  me, 

Abel !  dear  Abel  I  won't  you  ?  "  Thus  she  lied,  and 
pleaded. 

"  And  suffer  in  your  place  !  " 

"  No,  no,  Abel.  You  are  innocent.  They  cannot 
punish  you  for  what  you  have  not  done.  And  you  are 
a  man  I " 

He  smiled;  but  his  smile  was  even  more  frightful  to 
her  than  his  frown. 

"  Punishment  has  no  terrors  for  me  now.    I  think  I 


Husband  and  Wife.  169 

shall  soon  be  glad  to  hide  my  head  even  in  prison.    If 
it  wasn't  for  Ebby  —  my  boy  !  "  — 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Don't  frighten 
me  so,  Abel !  They  can't  imprison  you,  —  how  can 
they  ?  " 

"  You  have  made  your  act  appear  as  my  act.  You 
did  the  robbery,  and  I  received  and  used  the  money. 
People  know  how  I  was  distressed  for  money  at  the 
time;  —  that  is  evidence  against  me.  The  Apjohns 
identify  the  stolen  bill ;  they  can  produce  proof  to  show 
how  they  came  by  it,  which  I  cannot  do.  Then  there 
is  one  of  my  letter-envelopes,  —  how  came  it  in  their 
house  ?  They  found  it  rolled  up  in  the  kitchen." 

"  I  don't  know,  —  I  don't  know  !  "  said  Faustina. 

"  I  know  1 "  answered  Abel.  "  If  others  only  knew  !  " 
A  powerful  emotion  shook  him,  as  he  looked  upon  her, 
so  young  and  beautiful  and  proud,  and  thought  of  her 
ruin  and  disgrace.  "  'Twas  one  of  your  curl-papers. 
You  lost  it  when  you  took  the  money.  And  you  stopped 
the  clock,  when  you  took  the  key  of  the  chest  out  of  it. 
Did  you  leave  any  other  trace  of  your  guilt  ?  " 

Then  Faustina's  strength  went  from  her,  and  hope 
went  with  it,  and  despair  possessed  her. 

"  I  will  certainly  kill  myself,  Abel !  "  she  said. 

"  Would  one  of  us  had  died  already  !  "  he  answered. 
u  But  killing  ourselves  now  will  not  mend  matters.  I 
am  sick  enough  of  the  world,  to  leave  it  very  willingly. 
But  I  shall  bide  my  time.  Come  !  " 

She  followed    him,  walking  in  a  sullen  stupor.    He 
15 


170  Neighbors'  Wives. 

conducted  her  to  her  chamber,  —  their  chamber  hereto 
fore, —  where  Ebby  lay  sweetly  slumbering.  He  led 
her  to  the  bedside;  and  there  they  both  stood  for  some 
moments  gazing  upon  the  lovely  little  sleeper,  each  with 
what  different  thoughts  ! 

"Go  to  bed,"  then  said  Abel. 

She  obeyed  him  without  word  or  resistance.  He 
waited  till  she  had  lain  down.  Then  he  put  his  arms 
gently  about  the  unconscious  babe,  and  took  him  from 
her  side.  At  that  she  roused. 

"  Oh  !  are  you  going  to  leave  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Faustina." 

"  Go,  then  !  Be  kind  and  forgiving  to  every  one  but  me. 
But  leave  me  my  child,  —  our  child,  Abel,  —  won't  you?" 

"  No,  Faustina." 

Then  she  turned  upon  her  face,  burying  it  in  the  pil 
low,  which  she  clutched  and  bit  convulsively. 

And  bearing  the  dewy-cheeked  infant  in  his  arrnsr 
Abel  went  out,  closed  the  door  behind  him  gently  and 
firmly,  and  entered  another  room. 

jit  was  the  room  that  had  been  Eliza's.  In  the  bed 
that  had  been  Eliza's  he  laid  down  his  precious  bur 
den,  and  threw  himself  heavily  down  beside  him. " 

"  Papa  !  papa  ! "  said  Ebby,  waking,  and  glad  to  find 
the.  whiskers  he  loved  on  his  face.  And  stretching  up 
his  little  arms,  he  hugged  the  dear  good  head. of  his 
father  to  his  sweet  moist  bosom. 

Abel  sobbed.  And  there  he  lay,  thinking  of  his  des 
olation  and  remembering  his  sins.  Who  could  help 


Husband  and  Wife.  171 

him  ?  God  can  help  us,  but  not  always  within  our 
selves.  He  uses  instruments  and  mediators.  Abel 
longed  for  human  sympathy  and  aid.  And  he  thought 
of  one  whom  he  had  wronged. 

"How  I  wronged  her!"  he  said,  and  gnashed  his 
teeth.  "Idiot  that  I  was  !  and  she  so  wise  and  good  ! 
Nobody  but  her  !  nobody  but  her  I  "  he  repeated,  think 
ing  of  those  who,  out  of  all  the  world,  might  be  of 
service  to  him  then.  "  And  I  grieved  her  away  !  O  my 
baby  !  —  my  mother  !  —  my  good  name  among  men  ! 
—  if  only  Eliza  was  here  !  " 

A  soothing  influence  stole  over  him,  as  he  thought  of 
her.  Something  of  her  spirit  seemed  still  to  pervade 
the  room;  and  he  found  rest  in  it.  Then  what  if  she 
herself  were  there  ?  His  longing  for  her,  the  cry  of 
his  inmost  soul  became  irresistible.  He  arose,  and 
penned  the  brief  letter  which  called  her  home;  then 
returned  to  bed,  drew  Ebby  to  his  heart,  and  slept  the 
sleep  of  the  innocent. 


172  Neighbors'1  Wives. 


XX. 

THE  RETURN  OF  ELIZA. 

THE  letter  went  the  next  day  to  its  destination.  The 
day  after  was  Saturday.  "Would  Eliza  be  here  before 
the  Sabbath  ?  Would  she  come  at  all  ? 

It  is  another  moonshiny  night;  —  the  chill  mists 
rising,  the  village  dogs  barking,  the  elm-trees  droop 
ing  in  the  dew,  with  now  and  then  a  liquid  rustle,  and 
a  young  woman  hurrying  across  the  common  through 
shadow  and  gloom. 

It  is  a  plain,  earnest  face  you  see  under  the  brown 
bonnet,  —  pale,  in  the  moonlight,  and  full  of  anxious 
thought,  —  gazing  toward  Abel's  house.  Why  does  her 
bosom  swell  so,  and  her  heart  beat  so  fast  ? 

Oh,  the  realization  that  she  is  going  home,  —  that 
here  she  is  again  in  sight  of  the  house,  which  stands 
with  its  white  gable  to  the  moon,  waiting  as  in  the  well- 
remembered  bygone  sheeny  nights  !  No,  it  is  not  a 
dream,  Eliza;  you  are  fully  awake. 

The  feeling  of  the  old,  frequented  paths  under  her 
feet;  the  familiar  scent  of  the  soil  and  trees;  Abel's 
shop,  Cooper  John's  shop,  and  Cooper  John's  squatty 
house,  which  always  to  her  mind  bore  such  a  ludicrous 


The  Return  of  Eliza. 

likeness  to  good  Mrs.  Apjohn;  again,  the  night- fog  steal 
ing  up  from  the  hollow,  mingled  with  which  comes  an 
indefinable,  tantalizing  sense  of  change  in  the  native 
atmosphere  of  the  town;  something,  after  all,  foreign 
and  forbidding  in  the  features  of  the  landscape  lying 
dim  in  the  moonlight;  —  all  this  makes  her  strangely 
afraid  and  strangely  glad. 

Her  hands  are  encumbered  with  travelling-gear;  yet 
she  walks  swiftly.  And  now  she  is  near  the  gate;  and 
now  she  pauses  and  shrinks.  What  is  this  that  rushes 
upon  her?  All  the  past  in  a  flood,  —  the  old,  warm 
current  of  love;  the  cutting  ice  of  disappointment; 
the  wrecks  of  happiness;  faces  of  dead  friendships; 
pleasures  and  hopes  and  pains ;  all  which  she  sees,  like 
a  drowning  person,  in  one  wild,  stifling  instant  of  time. 

Then  comes  a  sudden  dash  through  the  yard.  Old 
Turk,  who  has  been  for  the  last  hour  assiduously  sere 
nading  the  moon,  —  his  big,  bluff  barytone,  distinguish 
able  afar  off  amid  the  chorus  of  village  curs,  —  leaves 
that  thankless  occupation,  gives  a  bounce  at  the  gate, 
which  flies  open,  and,  with  yelps  of  furious  delight  and 
frenzied  wags  of  tail,  madly  leaping  and  licking,  gives 
her  a  devouring  welcome.  Eliza  drops  bag  and  band 
box,  and  hugs  the  dear  old  monster  in  her  arms,  crying 
for  very  joy. 

"  Old  Turk  !    dear  Turk  !    There,  stop,  you  saucy 
boy  !     Can't  you  be  glad  without  tearing  me  to  pieces  ?  < 
You  dear  fellow  !    Down  !  " 

To  be  thus  remembered  and  greeted  by  her  dumb 
15* 


174  Neighbor's  Wives. 

friend  is  a  great  comfort.  She  accepts  it  as  a  good 
omen,  and  her  heart  grows  light,  —  only  to  grow  heavy 
again,  however,  a  moment  later. 

Her  hand  is  on  the  latch.  Shall  she  open,  as  in  old 
times,  —  the  good  old  times,  forever  past,  when  she 
was  as  the  mistress  of  that  house  ?  She  remembers 
that  another  woman  is  mistress  there  now,  and,  awk 
ward  and  unnatural  as  it  seems,  she  knocks  like  any 
wayfarer.  What  tremor,  what  suspense,  —  waiting 
there  on  that  door-step  for  some  one  to  open  unto  her  ! 
Who  will  come  ?  Will  Abel's  face  be  the  first  to  meet 
her,  or  the  beautiful  Faustina's,  which  she  somehow 
dreads,  or  dear  old  Mrs.  Dane's,  benevolent  and  be 
loved  ?  Oh,  to  think  she  is  now  to  see  these  faces  once 
more, —  that  the  moment,  which  she  thought  would 
never  come,  has  at  last  arrived  !  If  only  the  door 
would  open  !  But  it  doesn't. 

She  knocks  again,  less  timidly,  —  louder  even  than 
her  heart  is  knocking  all  this  time.  And  now  there  is  a 
stir  within.  She  is  aware  of  some  one  peeping  out  at 
her  from  the  window.  Then  the  door  is  cautiously 
opened,  and  the  edge  of  a  face  appears,  —  a  face  un 
known  to  Eliza. 

"  Is  Abel  —  Mr.  Dane  —  at  home  ?  " 

Alas,  Eliza  !  that  ever  you  should  come  to  that  door 
with  such  a  formal  question,  and  stand  coldly  outside 
till  a  stranger's  tongue  has  answered  it ! 

"No;  gone  away,"  says  the  face  through  the  crack  — 
the  door  yielding  only  about  a  hand's  breadth. 


The  Return  of  Eliza.  175 

In  her  disappointment,  Eliza  is  half  a  mind  to  go 
away  too,  and  come  again  no  more.  Indeed,  what  busi 
ness  has  she  there  ?  The  letter  which  brought  her  — 
she  must  have  merely  dreamed  of  such  a  letter.  Or, 
even  were  it  a  reality,  why  was  she  so  foolishly  eager  to 
answer  the  summons  ?  Abel  did  not  expect  she  would 
be,  it  is  evident.  Since  he  had  been  so  long  reticent  and 
cold,  ought  she  not  to  be  ashamed  of  her  ready  and  ar 
dent  zeal  ? 

"  I  would  like  to  see  old  Mrs.  Dane,"  she  falters. 

"She's  wus;  don't  see  nobody,"  replies  the  face 
through  the  crack. 

What  shall  she  do  ?  Is  this  then  coming  home  ?  Is 
this  the  hour  she  looked  forward  to  with  such  palpitat 
ing  hope  during  her  long  journey  ?  She  turns  half 
round.  She  sees  the  moon  shining  on  the  trees  and  fields 
as  she  has  seen  it  a  hundred  times  before.  Its  cold 
beams  are  more  hospitable  than  the  glimpse  of  light  in 
the  forbidden  house.  The  wide,  roofless  night  is  not 
so  solitary  as  this  half-shut  guarded  door.  "  Abel  ! 
Abel !  "  says  her  heart, "  if  you  sent  for  me,  why  are  you 
not  here  to  welcome  me  ?  " 

"  But  this  is  morbid,"  says  her  better  sense. 

"  Is  young  Mrs.  Dane  at  home  ?  "  she  forces  herself  to 
inquire. 

"  Yes'm  ;  but  she's  sick  a-bed  too.  Don't  see  no 
body." 

This,  then,  is  Abel's  trouble,  Eliza  thinks.  His  wife 
is  ill, — perhaps  dying,  —  and  she  has  been  sent  for  to 


176  Neighbors'  Wives. 

save  for  him  that  precious  life.  Well,  she  will  do  her 
duty. 

"  Will  Abel  be  home  soon  ?  " 

"  Don't  know.  Guess  biineby.  Didn't  say,  when  he 
went  out." 

"  I  will  come  in  and  wait,"  says  Eliza.  Still  the  door 
does  not  open;  and  the  face  at  the  crack  looks  out  sus 
piciously  at  her,  with  a  foolish,  doubting  smile. 

"  Do  you  know  if  they  were  expecting  any  one  to 
night  ?  " 

"Q-uess  not;  hain't heerd  rem  say." 

"  This  used  to  be  my  home.  Did  you  ever  hear  them 
speak  of  Eliza  ?  " 

At  which  word,  Turk,  grown  impatient  of  delay, 
brushes  past  her,  forcing  the  door. 

"  La,  ma'am  !  is  this  Eliza  ?  "  cries  the  flustered 
housemaid,  recovering  from  Turk  and  the  surprise. 
"  I've  heerd  old  Mrs.  Dane  talk  of  you  ever  so  many 
times  !  My  name's  Melissy,  —  Melissy  Jones,  ye 
know  -;  though  mabby  ye  never  heerd  of  me  afore, 
seein'  as  how  my  folks  only  jest  moved  into  the  place  a 
little  more'n  a  year  ago.  Old  Mrs.  Dane  '11  be  dreadful 
tickled  to  see  ye,  I  know  !  La,  I  thought  'twas  a  strag 
gler  !  and  I'm  kind  o'  skeery,  folks  bein'  sick  so,  and 
Abel  away  from  home.  Take  a  seat  and  set  down,  won't 
ye?" 

Eliza  is  gazing  vacantly  about  the  room,  and  begin 
ning  to  take  off  her  things.  What  object  is  it  which 
suddenly  fixes  her  sight  ? 


The  Return  of  Eliza. 

"  That's  baby,  —  that's  Ebby,"  Melissa  explains.  "  I 
was  lonesome,  so  1  kep'  him  up  for  comp'ny;  but,  la«4 
he  dropt  right  off  to  sleep,  jest  as  he  never  will  evenings 
when  we  want  him  to." 

In  the  rocking-chair,  sunken  in  pillows,  dimpled 
cheek  on  dimpled  arm,  with  the  smile  of  some  happy 
dream  just  stirring  the  sweet  mouth,  the  chubby  cherub 
sleeps.  Eliza  bends  over  him,  kneeling.  Her  face, 
bowed  low,  is  hidden  from  Melissa.  Long  she  gazes, 
silent.  O  fortunate  Abel,  parent  of  that  darling  boy  ! 
O  proud  Faustina,  to  be  the  mother,  and  the  father's 
cherished  wife  I  Eliza  touches,  with  quivering  lips,  the 
lily-white,  dewy  skin,  the  warm,  aromatic,  rosy  mouth. 
Then  she  says,  calmly,  — 

"He  looks  like  Abel,  I  think?' 

"  Yes'in,"  assents  Melissa,  "  he  dooes.  Most  folks 
thinks  he  favors  his  pa  the  most." 

"  How  long  has  his  mother  been  sick  ?  " 

"  Only  sence  yist'day." 

"  Is  she  very  sick  ?  "  asks  Eliza,  surprised. 

"  Don't  know.  Perty  considerable, — though  not  very, 
I  guess,"  Melissa  confusedly  answers. 

"  Does  she  see  the  doctor  ?  " 

"No,  ma'am;  she  don't  see  nobody.  Better  take  a 
seat  and  set  down." 

Melissa  would  like  to  change  the  subject.  Eliza, 
seating  herself,  persists  in  questioning  her. 

"  But  she  must  see  somebody.  Who  takes  her  food 
to  her?" 


178  Neighbors'  Wives. 

"I  do ;  but  she  won't  eat,  and  she  sca'cely  looks  at 
me,  but  keeps  her  head  kivered  up  under  the  bedclo'es. 
Oh,  dear ! "  sighs  Melissa,  remembering  the  secret, 
which  she  dreads  to  keep,  yet  fears  to  betray. 

"  But  she  sees  her  husband  ! "  says  the  astonished 
Eliza. 

"Euther  guess  not;  for  he  sleeps  in  t'other  room 
now,  'long  'ith  Ebby." 

"  How  long  has  he  done  so  ?  " 

"  Only  last  night  and  the  night  afore,  ma'am." 

"  She  can't  be  very  sick,  then,  —  or  else  he  would  go 
to  her." 

"  Wai,  I  do'no;  she  don't  git  up.  I  guess  it's  trouble 
more'n  anything." 

"  What  trouble  ?  Tell  me !  I  am  come  to  help  them, 
and  I  must  know." 

"  Don't  ax  me  !  it's  too  bad  !  Oh,  dear  !  "  And  up 
goes  Melissa's  apron,  and  down  goes  her  face  into  it, 
with  a  sob. 

Eliza,  with  her  quick  sense  of  the  comical,  smiles,  but 
faintly.  There  is  no  laughter  in  her  heart  to-night. 

"Melissa,"  —  she  assumes  authority,  —  "put  down 
your  apron  !  " 

The  girl  only  clutches  it  more  closely  to  her  weeping 
face. 

"  Will  crying  mend  matters  ?  Don't  keep  me  in 
suspense  !  Tell  me  at  once !  " 

"  O  ma'am,"  —  Melissa  uncovers  her  interesting  linea 
ments,  but  holds  the  apron  under  them  with  both  hands, 


The  Return  of  Eliza.  179 

like  a  basin,  to  catch  the  sacred  drops  of  grief,  —  "  it's 
all  sence  day  before  yist'day.  She  was  well  enough 
then.  But  that  night  —  that  night,"  —  another  explosion 
is  coming ;  she  has  the  extinguisher  ready,  —  "he  —  he 

—  was  took  up  for  stealing  !  " 

This  time  she  flings  the  apron  completely  over  her 
head,  and  rocks  and  wrings  herself  in  it  tempestuously. 
Eliza  is  calm,  you  would  say.  But  how  very  white  !  It 
is  a  minute  before  she  can  get  herself  heard.  She  takes 
hold  of  Melissa's  hands  as  she  would  a  child's,  and  en 
deavors  to  remove  the  muffler.  At  length  the  weeper 
permits  her  frizzled  head  and  one  corner  of  the  corru 
gated  countenance  to  be  uncovered,  peeps  out  with  one 
streaming  red  eye  over  the  saturated  calico,  and  whim 
pers  forth  the  story.  It  is  given  in  bursts  and  snatches, 
incoherently  enough ;  and,  of  course,  one  very  important 
portion  of  it  is  suppressed,  in  terror  of  her  mistress  and 
her  oath. 

Eliza  listens,  sick  at  her  very  soul. 

"  And  Abel  is  in  jail  to-night !  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me?" 

"  Oh,  he  ain't !  He's  innocent,  ye  know.  And  they 
can't  keep  him  in  jail,  can  they  ?  Say  !  "  Both  eyes 
come  out  of  their  retreat,  and  appeal  earnestly  to  Eliza, 

—  "  Do  you  s'pose  they  can  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  he  is  innocent  ?  " 
"  Oh,  I  don't  know  —  only  —  his  wife  says  he  is  !  "  so 
much  she  dares  confess. 

"  If  she  says  so,  and  thinks  so,  why  does  she  give  up 


i8o  Neighbors'  Wives. 

to  the  shame  and  misery  of  the  thing,  and  keep  her  bed, 
instead  of  rising,  like  a  woman,  to  cheer  and  help  him  ?  " 
demands  Eliza,  her  heart  growing  great  within  her.  "  I 
am  sure  he  is  innocent !  My  Abel  !  steal  V  —  Come, 
come,  Melissa  !  We  have  something  else  to  do  besides 
lying  in  bed  or  hiding  our  heads  in  our  aprons.  Go  and 
tell  mother  I  have  come.  It  will  comfort  her  to  see  me, 
I  know.  Has  she  heard  about  Abel  ?  " 

"  I  guess  he  told  her  yesterday,"  answered  Melissa, 
finding  a  dry  edge  of  her  apron  to  wipe  up  with. 
"  They  was  alone  together  for  ever  so  long;  and  I  could 
see  something  had  a'most  killed  her  afterwards.  Oh,  I'm 
so  glad  you've  come  ! "  —  looking  up  with  hope  and 
confidence  at  Eliza.  "The  house  seems  so  dreadful 
lonesome  I  Le'me  pump  you  some  water,  if  you  want 
to  wash.  La,  now,  there's  Ebby  waking  up  jest  at  the 
wrong  time  ! " 

"  I'll  take  care  of  him.  Go  and  prepare  mother  fox 
seeing  me,"  said  Eliza. 


Home  once  More.  181 


XXI. 

HOME   ONCE  MORE. 

Now,  with  slow  footsteps  and  a  leaden  heart,  Abel 
Dane  came  home  to  his  dishonored  house.  For  some 
moments  he  stood  gloomily  outside,  without  the  cour 
age  to  enter.  His  wife  sullen  and  mad  with  he  knew 
not  what  remorse  or  shame,  his  child  worse  than  moth 
erless,  his  own  mother  broken-hearted  by  the  disgrace  of 
his  arrest,  though  she  knew  not  all;  —  what  was  then 
left  to  him  ?  And  Eliza  had  not  come,  as  he  believed, 
and  would  not  come,  he  feared. 

He  opened  the  door.  Turk  bounced  upon  him,  her 
alding  the  good  news.  And  there,  demurely  sitting, 
with  Ebby  awake  and  happy  in  her  arms  —  who  ? 
Could  he  believe  his  eyes  ? 

"  Eliza  !  "  He  ran  to  embrace  her.  "  Bless  you  for 
this,  Eliza  I  "  And  he  bowed  himself. 

She  did  not  rise.  "My  brother,"  she  whispered. 
And  with  one  arm  holding  his  infant  boy,  and  the  other 
gathering  his  head  to  her  bosom  as  he  knelt,  she  felt 
that  she  was  blessed. 

M  How  came  you  here  ?  "  he  asked,  holding  her  hand, 
and  looking  at  her  in  a  kind  of  rapture.  "  I  have  been 
16 


182  Neighbors'  Wives. 

to  meet  you.  I  was  never  so  disappointed  as  when  the 
stage  came  without  you.  I  thought  I  should  have  to 
wait  till  next  week,  and  that  maybe  you  wouldn't  come 
at  all." 

"  If  I  had  only  known  you  would  meet  me  ! "  said 
Eliza.  "It  would  have  saved  me  so  much.  But  the 
stage  was  coining  by  the  common;  so  I  got  out,  and  ran 
across.  And  here  I  am,  though  we  missed  each  other." 

"  And  glad  to  be  home  again  ?  "  he  tenderly  inquired. 

"  I  am  glad  now,  —  now  that  you  have  come ;  for  I 
see  you  are  glad." 

"  Glad  ?  Eliza,"  —  and  he  stroked  her  hand,  still 
gazing  at  her  with  joy  and  tears.  "  I  can  bear  any 
thing  now.  You  have  heard  ?  " 

"  Melissa  has  told  me." 

"  And  you  believe  in  me  ?  " 

"Implicitly,  Abel." 

"  I  knew  you  would  !    And  you  have  forgiven  me  ?  " 

"  Forgiven  you  ?  " 

"Yes;  for  I  was  very  harsh,  very  unjust  to  you,  sis 
ter." 

"  But  you  did  not  mean  to  be,"  she  answered,  with 
melting  gentleness. 

"No,  I  did  not;  I  was  so  wise  and  virtuous  in  my 
own  conceit.  But,  Eliza,  you  were  so  much  wiser  and 
better  than  I,  that  I  am  amazed,  I  am  incensed  at  my 
self  when  I  think  how  we  parted.  I  feel  like  the  prodi 
gal  son.  I  have  been  wandering,  Eliza,  wandering  ! 
Now  I  am  once  more  at  home.  But  I  am  selfish,"  he 


Home  once  More.  183 

continued,  saddening;  "I  have  no  such  home  to  offer 
you  as  you  left;  and,  if  you  stay,  it  will  be  to  sacrifice 
your  better  interests,  and  share  my  broken  hopes." 

"  I  never  had  any  interests  that  were  not  yours,"  an 
swered  Eliza.  "  And  as  for  your  broken  hopes,  I  will 
mend  them!"  —  her  pale  face  beaming  so  with  love 
and  truth  that  it  warmed  his  inmost  heart. 

And  now  he  saw  how  time  and  absence  had  changed 
her.  She  had  grown  older;  but  years  and  affliction  had 
not  curdled  the  current  of  her  life.  Deep  and  clear  and 
bright  it  shone  out  upon  him  from  the  blue  of  her  pure 
eyes ;  and  the  tones  of  her  voice  betrayed  how  musical 
and  how  full  were  the  waters  of  that  inward  stream. 

For  Eliza,  in  those  years,  had  not  lain  supinely  on 
the  bed  of  disappointment,  as  many  do,  while  brooding 
sorrow  sucks  their  blood ;  but,  by  a  generous  activity 
of  hands  and  head  and  heart,  she  had  driven  away  that 
vampire;  and  her  soul,  hungering  in  the  wilderness  for 
human  sympathy,  had  been  fed  by  manna  from  God; 
and,  on  the  rough  brier  of  trial,  for  her  had  blossomed 
the  white  rose  of  peace. 

Who  has  not  suffered  ?  Bereavement  conies  some 
time  to  all,  and  it  depends  upon  ourselves  whether  it 
shall  be  unto  us  a  blessing  or  a  curse.  Like  the  dwarfed 
little  old  woman  of  the  story-book,  when  ill-received  by 
a  grumbling  and  grudging  housewife,  it  proves  an  evil 
guest,  and  goes  not  without  leaving  behind  some  bitter 
token  of  resentment.  Yet,  when  the  same  dark  and 
unlovely  disguise  enters  the  abode  of  a  cheerful  and, 


184  Neighbors'    Wives. 

though  poor,  benevolent  host,  and  is  kindly  entertained, 
a  wondrous  charm  enters  with  it,  —  the  larder  is  re 
plenished,  the  fire  never  goes  out,  the  household  work  is 
done  by  unseen  hands,  floors  are  miraculously  swept 
over  night,  and  all  troublesome  and  venomous  insects 
are  banished;  till,  by-and-by,  the  visitor,  departing,  lets 
fall  the  tattered  mantle  and  brown  hood;  the  fairy 
stands  an  instant  revealed,  then  leaps,  with  a  laugh, 
upon  a  yellow-tailed  sunbeam,  and  vanishes,  leaving  the 
house  filled  with  her  beautiful  gifts. 

Unto  Eliza  had  come  such  a  fairy  in  that  humble,  still 
abode,  her  breast;  and  the  cupboard  of  its  charities  had 
been  kept  well  supplied,  and  the  fire  of  the  heart  had 
not  failed,  and  those  busy  fingers,  the  faculties,  were 
sped  magically  in  their  tasks ;  and  lo,  when  the  night  was 
gone,  and  the  morning  of  consolation  come,  the  world's 
dust  was  found  swept  clean  from  the  chambers  !  and, 
though  the  fairy  had  flown,  her  charm  and  her  blessing 
remained;  all  because  Eliza  had  used  gentle  behavior 
towards  her  unwelcome  guest,  and  had  not  shut  her 
door  against  the  messenger  of  God. 

"  Mamma  !  "  said  Ebby,  exploring  with  his  pleased 
fingers  the  new,  kind  face,  with  which  he  already  felt 
himself  at  home.  And  he  looked  at  his  father,  and  again 
pointed  at  Eliza,  and  repeated,  with  a  little  crow  of  de 
light,  "  mamma  !  "  —  curiously  feeling  the  eyes  and 
mouth  and  chin,  which  he  evidently  found  beautiful, 
whatever  others  might  think. 

Abel  was  strangely  affected. 


Home  once  More.  185 

"  Yes,  precious  ! "  said  Eliza,  smiling  with  suffused 
eyes,  "  I  will  be  his  mamma  if  ever  he  needs  one.  But 
I  am  his  auntie  now." 

"  Mamma  ! "  insisted  Ebby,  trying  to  put  his  thumb 
into  her  nose.  "  Dood  mamma  !  " 

Abel  trembled,  and  clinched  his  teeth  hard,  and  tried 
to  fix  his  features,  which  worked  and  quivered  in  spite 
of  him.  Eliza  did  not  speak,  but  bent  over  the  boy,  l 
whom  she  held  close  to  her  heart,  gazing  upon  him  with 
absorbing  tenderness ;  bathing  him,  so  to  speak,  in  soft 
est  dews  of  blessing  from  the  heaven  of  her  soul. 

Oh,  had  his  mother  such  a  soul,  and  such  a  heart  of 
love  !  the  father  thought.  But  what  now  was  the  use, 
he  added  bitterly  within  himself,  of  vain  wishes  or  re 
grets  ? 

"  I  was  sorry  afterwards  that  I  had  written  you  such 
a  letter,"  he  said.  "  What  did  you  think  ?  " 

"I  knew  you  were  having  a  good  deal  of  trouble 
about  money." 

"  You  knew  ! "  interrupted  Abel.    "  How  ?  " 

"By  letters.  I  have  two  or  three  correspondents.  I 
heard  you  were  likely  to  fail;  so  I  thought  —  I  hoped  — 
your  distress  was  nothing  worse  than  that." 

"  Eliza  I  "  —  a  new  revelation  had  suddenly  broken 
in  upon  Abel,  —  "  one  mystery  is  explained  !  Eool,  that 
I  didn't  think  of  you  before  !  " 

"  Of  me  ?  "  said  Eliza. 

"  Look  in  my  eyes !    'Twas  you  that  sent  me  that 
draft  for  a  hundred  dollars  !    You'  had  it  mailed  from 
16* 


1 86  Neighbors'    Wives. 

Boston,  that  I  might  not  suspect  you.  And  that  after 
all  my  unkind  treatment  of  you  !  "  And  Abel  bent  his 
face  upon  her  hand,  which  he  wrung  and  kissed  with 
mingled  gratitude  and  self-reproach. 

It  is  not  probable  that  Eliza  was  sorry  now  to  have 
her  benevolent  action  known.  And  somehow  the  emo 
tion  he  betrayed  thrilled  a  nerve  of  joy  in  her  breast. 

"I  told  you,"  she  murmured, "  that  I  have  no  interests 
apart  from  yours.  I  never  had.  It  seemed  that  an 
eternity  of  silence  could  not  make  me  forget  that  I  was 
still  your  sister,  —  that  I  owed  more  to  you  than  I  could 
ever  repay." 

"  O  'Liza,  'Liza  ! "  said  Abel,  "  don't  heap  such  coals 
on  my  head  ! " 

"  And  now  I  have  come  to  share  all  your  troubles," 
she  went  on,  cheerfully.  "  And,  in  the  first  place,  tell 
me  all  about  them." 

Abel's  forehead  gloomed.  He  thought  of  the  guilty 
woman,  cowering  in  the  bedclothes  in  the  chamber, 
waiting  to  hear  her  doom  from  him.  He  remembered 
vher  anguish  and  her  prayers,  and  knew  that  he  held  her 
destiny  in  his  hands.  It  was  hard  to  abandon  her  to 
the  shame  her  folly  had  earned.  It  was  easier  to  bear 
himself  the  obloquy,  and,  if  needful,  suffer  punishment 
in  her  stead;  for  she  was  still  his  wife,  —  the  mother  of 
his  boy.  He  could  not  forget  that;  and  what  would 
life  be  worth  to  him  after  giving  her  up  to  ignominy  ? 
Here  was  Eliza.  She  might  more  than  recompense  him 
for  the  loss  of  a  selfish,  shallow-hearted  wife.  But 


Home  once  More.  187 

he  chased  instantly  the  unworthy  thought  from  his 
mind. 

"Sister,"  he  said  solemnly,  lifting  his  head,  after  a 
moment's  heavy  thought,  —  and  there  was  an  ague  in 
his  voice  as  he  spoke,  —  "I  shall  tell  you  all  I  can  hon 
orably  tell  you,  be  sure;  for  I  must  have  your  sympathy 
and  trust.  But  some  things  may  be  left  long  untold, 
and  you  must  not  question  me  concerning  them.  In 
due  time,  now  or  hereafter,  you  shall  know  all.  I  am 
innocent,  of  course;  though  Mrs.  Apjohn's  malice  has  a 
better  foundation  than  I  at  first  thought." 

"Enough,"  said  Eliza;  "I  trust  you  wholly,  and  I 
ought  to  be  above  idle  curiosity.  But  here  is  Melissa. 
What  did  mother  say  ?  " 

"  She  couldn't  believe  me  when  I  fust  told  her  you'd 
come,"  replied  Miss  Jones.  "  Then  she  chirked  right 
up  as  pleased  !  I  had  to  stop  and  put  clean  piller-cases 
on  the  bed,  though,  'fore  she'd  let  me  bring  you  in  to 
see  her;  for  she  says  you're  dreadful  petic'lar,  and  I 
guess  she  don't  want  you  to  know  things  ain't  kep'  look- 
in'  quite  so  scrumptious  around  as  they  used  to  be. 
But  you'll  find  it  out  fast  enough,"  added  the  simple- 
minded  girl;  "  and  you'll  find  'tain't  all  my  fault, 
neither." 

While  she  was  speaking,  Eliza  delivered  Ebby  to 
Abel,  and  prepared  to  accompany  her.  Melissa  went 
as  far  as  the  old  lady's  door;  saw  her  rise  up  in  bed  to 
meet  the  long-lost  daughter  of  her  adoption;  heard  the 
stifled  sobs  and  kisses  as  they  fell  into  each  other's 


1 88  Neighbor's  Wives. 

arms;  then  drew  back  from  the  closed  door,  rubbing 
her  red  eyes  redder  still  with  sympathy. 

Like  her  let  us  also  retire,  and  leave  these  two,  re 
united,  to  their  sacred  privacy.  The  evening  is  now 
advanced.  Eliza  makes  up  a  bed  in  her  mother's  room, 
resolved  to  lie  there  that  night  and  the  nights  thereafter, 
so  long  as  her  faithful  attendance  can  be  of  comfort  to 
the  invalid.  And  there,  when  the  deep,  still  hours 
come,  blissful  rest  steals  upon  her,  and  she  sleeps  when 
she  would  watch.  And  the  invalid  becomes  herself  the 
watcher,  too  happy  in  the  wanderer's  return  to  close 
her  eyes  that  night.  And  the  night  passes  over  them 
and  over  all,  —  aged  watcher,  youthful  dreamer;  Abel 
in  the  chamber  apart,  at  peace,  with  Ebby  at  his  side; 
and  Faustina,  moaning  in  her  sleep  with"  evil  dreams,  or 
starting  awake  by  fits,  to  find  herself  alone,  and  bite  her 
pillow  with  convulsive  teeth  until  she  sleeps  again. 


Another  Sunday.  189 


XXII. 

ANOTHER    SUNDAY. 

ANOTHER  Sunday  morning,  —  how  pure  and  tranquil 
after  the  fever  of  the  week  1  The  farm-wagon  is  housed, 
and  the  unyoked  oxen  graze  in  the  autumn  pastures. 
The  mill  is  silent;  the  cool,  damp  cavern  under  it  echo 
ing  only  to  the  plash  of  the  water  dripping  over  the 
great  wheel.  The  carpenter's  chest  is  locked,  the  shop 
closed  and  solitary;  only  mice  in  the  shavings  rustling, 
and  flies  buzzing  in  the  dust  and  cobwebs  of  the  sunny 
windows.  Even  the  active  young  jackplane,  resting  on 
the  work-bench,  has  a  serious,  composed  look,  —  as  it 
were,  an  air  of  keeping  the  Sabbath. 

And  the  cooper's  tools  lie  idle.  And  the  freshly- 
shaped  staves,  standing  in  the  corners,  seem  to  be  look 
ing  at  each  other,  and  wondering  at  the  vicissitudes  of 
life;  feeling,  no  doubt,  that  they  have  been  dreadfully 
shaved.  "While  the  rows  of  sober,  adult  barrels  arid  little 
juvenile  firkins,  all  in  their  new,  clean  dresses,  are  hold 
ing  a  solemn  Quaker-meeting,  so  very  life-like,  you 
would  say  yonder  pretty  matron  in  hoops  is  just  going 
to  open  her  head  and  say  something. 

Judging  from  the  aspect  of  the  cooper  this  fine  morn- 


190  Neighbors'  Wives. 

ing,  you  would  furthermore  infer  that  the  said  solemnity 
will  never  be  interrupted  by  him,  that  it  will  be  always 
Sunday  henceforth  in  his  shop,  and  Quaker-meeting 
among  the  casks.  He  himself,  he  thinks,  is  through  with 
church-going,  and  listening  to  psalms  and  sermons  for 
ever.  No  more  shall  he  sit  piously  in  his  pew,  while  the 
words  from  the  pulpit  fall  and  feed  him,  or  the  singing 
of  the  sweet-voiced  choir  breaks  silvery  over  his  soul. 
Never  again  shall  he  hold  up  his  head,  unshamed  in  the 
congregation.  Even  the  ringing  of  the  church-bells,  in 
the  holy  calm,  is  intolerable  to  him;  their  swelling,  sono 
rous  roar,  their  dying  moan  and  murmur,  awakening  in 
his  breast  such  vibrant  memories,  vague  terrors,  and 
sick  regrets. 

Astride  his  chair  he  sits,  his  head  bowed  upon  the 
back  of  it,  a  pitiable  object.  Not  even  Mrs.  Apjohn's 
robust  bosom  can  resist  a  thrill  of  pity  as  she  looks  at 
him.  Or  does  the  ringing  of  the  church-bells  disturb 
her  also  ?  She  has  resolutely  put  on  her  black  silk,  de 
claring  that  she  is  going  to  meeting,  anyway;  that  she 
can  hold  up  her  head  in  church  or  out  of  church.  But, 
the  hour  arrived,  her  heart  succumbs.  'Can  she  bear 
the  ordeal  of  jeers  and  significant  glances  ?  What  if  she 
should  find  a  tomato  in  her  pew  ?  "Will  there  not  be 
some  text  read  at  her  from  the  Scriptures,  or  some  appli 
cation  to  her  trespass  made  in  the  sermon  ?  She  has 
put  on  her  bonnet  with  indecision;  her  fingers  hesitate 
with  the  ribbons. 

"  Sick,  John  ?  "  she  says,  turning  partly  round,  as  she 
stands  before  the  glass. 


Another  Sunday.  191 

"I  ain't  well,  Prudy;  I  ain't  well;  not  over'n  above," 
answers  melancholy  John,  under  his  elbow. 

Now,  Prudence  flatters  herself  that  she  is  not  afraid 
to  face  the  nation.  But  John  is  poorly ;  John  is  down 
hearted;  maybe  John  will  resort  again  to  his  sanguinary 
handkerchief.  Ought  she,  as  a  faithful  wife,  to  leave  him 
alone  ?  she  asks  herself,  glancing  from  his  submissive 
neck  to  the  kitchen  pole. 

"  I  declare,  John,"  she  says,  out  of  one  corner  of  her 
mouth,  —  pins  in  the  other  corner,  —  "I  won't  go  to 
meetin',  after  all  !  You're  sick;  and  I'll  stay  to  hum 
and  mi's'  ye." 

"  Never  mind  me;  nevermind  me,"  says  Cooper  John. 
"  Go  if  ye  can,  and  take  the  good  on't.  To  be  sure,  to 
be  sure." 

These  were  the  only  words  he  spoke,  until  Prudence 
had  taken  off  her  black  silk,  put  on  her  every-day  gown 
again,  and  sat  down  in  the  rocking-chair,  with  the  Bible 
on  her  lap. 

"  Come,  John  !  le's  be  sociable,  and  have  a  sort  of 
comf 'table  Sunday  to  hum.  What  ye  thinkin'  about  ?" 
asks  Prudence. 

"  What  a  week  can  bring  forth  !  —  the  difference 
'twixt  this  Sunday  and  last,  Prudy  I  "  And  remember 
ing  how  then,  in  his  sleek  Sunday  clothes,  he  walked  to 
church,  a  respected  cooper,  and  the  honest  husband  of 
an  honest  wife;  no  neighbors  incensed  against  them, 
no  finger  of  scorn  pointed  at  them;  the  sight  of  a  blush 
ing  tomato  no  more  to  him  than  the  aspect  of  your  chaste 


192  Neighbors'  Wives. 

cucumber  or  innocent  pippin;  everybody  friendly  to  him, 
the  deacons  recognizing  him,  the  selectmen  often  deign 
ing  to  shake  hands  with  him,  even  the  minister  saying, 
kindly,  "Good-morning,  Mr.  Apjohn  ! "  or,  "I  hope 
you  are  well  this  blessed  morning,  brother  Apjohn  ! " 
—  remembering  such  things  were  one  brief  week  ag*o, 
and  can  never  be  again,  he  takes  his  little  bald  head  in 
his  two  hands,  and  wrings  it,  as  if  he  would  force  tears 
of  blood  out  of  that  juiceless  turnip. 

"  Highty-tighty,  John  !  "  says  Prudence;  "  don't  be  so 
foolish  ! " 

"  It  won't  be  Mr.  Apjohn  any  more  !  "  laments  the 
cooper.  "  But  it'll  be  Old  Apjohn;  or  Tomato  Apjohn." 

"  Never  mind,  John  ! "  says  Prudence  the  inexorable. 
"  We'll  spite  'em  to  our  heart's  content  !  Le's  think 
o'  that,  and  take  comfort." 

"  Spite  'em  ?  —  Comfort  ?  "  repeats  the  cooper.  "  No, 
no,  no  !  "  And  the  tolling  bell  says  "No — no  —  no  !  " 
with  slow  and  mournful  roar.  And  the  angels  whisper 
in  their  hearts,  "  No,  no,  no  !  "  But  though  the  sorrow 
ful  tongue  of  her  husband,  and  the  iron  tongue  of  the 
bell,  and  angels'  sweetly  persuasive  lips,  should  all  unite 
to  warn  or  to  entreat,  they  could  not  turn  Prudence 
from  her  revenge. 

"  I  can't  see  a  sign  of  their  gittin'  out  to  meetin',"  she 
observes,  looking  out  of  the  window  towards  Abel's 
house.  "  No  wonder  they  don't  go  !  They're  deeper'n 
the  mud'n  we  be'n  the  mire,  enough  sight;  we've  got 
that  to  console  us  !  Why,  John,  what's  a  few  tomatuses 


Another  Sunday.  193 

'twixt  neighbors  ?  only  think  on't !  But  breaking  into 
a  house,  and  into  a  chist,  and  stealin'  fifty  dollars  in 
money,  —  that's  a  State's-prison  job,  John  !  Oh,  we'll 
give  folks  somethin'  to  talk  about,  that'll  make  'em  for- 
git  the  tomatuses,  John  !  "  And  with  a  gleam  of  ma 
licious  joy,  she  sits  down  again,  with  the  Bible  on  her 
lap. 

"  Bead  a  chapter,  Prudy,"  says  the  cooper. 

And  she  reads,  — 

"  But  why  dost  thou  judge  thy  brother  ?  or  why  dost 
thou  set  at  naught  thy  brother  ?  for  we  shall  all  stand 
before  the  judgment-seat  of  Christ." 

"  That's  it !  to  be  sure  ! "  comments  the  humble  lis 
tener.  "  Prudy,  how  can  we  be  unforgivin'  to  others, 
when  we  stand"  so  much  in  need  of  mercy  ourselves  ? 
'  Before  the  judgment-seat  of  Christ,'  Prudy  !  remember 
that !  " 

Prudence  turns  to  read  in  another  place :  "  Woe 
unto  you,  when  all  men  shall  speak  well  of  you  !  "  and 
thinks  that  here  is  solace,  —  that  here  is  something  that 
will  suit  her  better.  But  the  very  next  paragraph  com 
mences  that  sublime  and  beautiful  injunction,  "Love 
your  enemies,  do  good  to  them  that  hate  you,  bless  them 
that  curse  you." 

And  she  closes  the  book  impatiently.  The  Bible  does 
not  please  her  to-day. 

In  the  meanwhile  very  different  scenes  are  passing  in 
Abel's  house.  Faustina  still  keeps  her  bed.  But  Eliza, 
active,  helpful,  effusing  an  atmosphere  of  cheerfulness 
17 


1 94  Neigh  bars'  Wives . 

around  her  wherever  she  moves,  more  than  fills  the 
place  of  the  sullen,  absent  wife.  She  has  quickly  learned 
the  ways  of  the  altered  household;  she  has  the  old  lady 
once  more  in  her  chair,  in  the  cosey  kitchen-corner;  and 
again  she  is  the  sunshine  of  the  house,  as  in  old  times. 
Indeed,  it  seems  as  if  the  old  times,  and  the  beautiful, 
harmonious  order  of  departed  days  were  now  restored. 
And,  but  for  Ebby  prattling  yonder,  watching  his  new 
"  mamma  "  with  pleased  eyes,  Abel  could  almost  fancy 
his  married  life  a  wild  dream. 

"  Oh,  this  is  Sunday  ! "  he  thinks.  No  such  day  of 
rest  has  he  known  for  months.  The  light  of  Eliza's 
countenance  is  joy  to  him;  the  sense  of  her  presence  is 
a  balm  to  all  his  hurts.  He  looks  at  his  mother's  dear 
old  face,  freshly  washed  with  dews  of  gladness  and 
gratitude,  and  shining  in  the  morning  brightness  of  a 
new  hope ;  he  sees  Melissa  inspired  with  unwonted 
activity  and  cleverness  ;  he  observes  even  the  dumb 
inmate,  Turk,  thumping  his  susceptible  tail  against 
every  object  he  passes,  in  his  restless  delight  at  Eliza's 
coming;  he  almost  forgets  the  guilty,  despairing  woman 
in  the  chamber,  and  her  crime,  which  he  must  answer 
for  ;  and  still  he  says  in  his  soul,  "  Oh,  this  indeed  is 
Sunday ! " 

Again  Eliza  sat  with  him  and  his  mother  at  break 
fast  ;  and  again  she  poured  the  elixir  of  her  own  sweet 
spirit  into  the  cups  she  gave  them.  And  the  muffins,  — 
Abel  would  have  known  they  were  of  her  cooking. 
Taste  them  wherever  he  might,  he  could  not  have  been 


Another  Sunday.  195 

deceived.  They  possessed  an  ingredient  which  is  not 
mentioned  in  any  receipt-book.  They  had  the  real 
Eliza  flavor.  No  such  muffins  had  been  eaten  in  his 
house  since  she  left  it;  and  as  for  that  unmistakable 
flavor,  how  often  had  he  longed  for  it,  sitting  down  to 
an  ill-furnished  table,  and  turning  heart-sick  from  the 
uninviting  edibles  ! 

Then,  sometimes,  in  the  midst  of  his  thankfulness, 
the  recollection  of  Faustina  and  of  her  crime  crosses 
his  spirit  like  an  eclipse ;  and  all  the  future  is  darkened. 

Then,  too,  the  aching  thought  of  what  might  have 
been,  had  Eliza  never  gone  and  Faustina  never  come, 
pierces  him.  And  the  thought  of  what  may  be  still,  if 
he  will  but  decide  to  sacrifice  his  wife,  agitates  him  like 
a  temptation. 

For  he  knows  now,  with  certainty,  that  all  hope  of 
happiness  with  her  is  shattered  ;  that,  under  the  thin 
veneering  of  her  beauty,  there  is  no  true  grain  of 
character;  that  what  the  deep  heart  of  man  forever 
hungers  for,  and  can  find  only  in  the  deep  heart  of 
woman,  —  what  he  has  sought  so  ardently  and  long  in 
her,  and  sought  always  in  vain,  —  can  never  be  his  so 
long  as  she  is  his;  and  that  to  be  her  husband  now,  in 
aught  but  the  name  and  outward  form,  will  be  a  sin 
against  his  own  divine  instinct  of  marriage. 

And,  with  equal  certainty,  he  knows  that,  in  this 
woman  whom  he  once  called  sister,  and  loved  so  calmly 
and  purely  and  habitually,  under  the  illusion  of  that 
name,  that  he  never  guessed  the  strength  and  sacredness 


196  Neighbors'  Wives. 

of  the  tie  between  them,  there  exists  a  soul  richly  fur 
nished  with  all  the  grace  and  goodness  and  sympathy 
which  he  has  longed  for  in  a  wife,  but  which  he  did  not 
find  when  he  set  the  vanity  of  his  eyes  to  choose  for  him. 

It  avails  not  for  Abel  to  put  away  these  thoughts. 
They  return :  when  the  small,  sprightly,  electric  form 
moves  before  him,  or  he  catches  the  flash  of  her  sunny 
glances ;  when  his  ears  drink  the  soft  music  of  her  con 
versation  or  laughter;  when  once  more,  as  in  bygone 
years,  in  the  mild  Sunday  afternoon,  they  read  together, 
aloud,  in  the  consolatory. Gospels,  or  the  mighty  poem 
of  Job;  when  their  voices  blend  in  singing  again  the 
old  beloved  tunes,  and  their  spirits  blend  also  in  a  more 
subtile  and  delicious  harmony;  continually  the  wishes, 
the  regrets,  the  passionate  yearnings  return,  with  their 
honey  and  their  stings. 

It  is  too  much.  Oh  that  the  simple  strain  of  an  old 
tune,  flinging  out  its  spiral  coil,  should  have  power  to 
lasso  the  will  and  master  it !  that  the  near  rustle  of  a 
robe  should  convulse  a  strong  man's  affections  !  that 
the  mere  sight  of  an  industrious  little  hand  setting  the 
supper-table  should  thrill  the  heart  to  tears  ! 

After  supper,  Abel  went  out  to  walk,  to  calm  his 
emotions,  to  cool  his  spirit  in  the  bath  of  the  evening 
air,  —  to  read  the  riddle  of  his  life,  if  possible,  in  the 
light  of  the  sunset  and  the  stars.  And  as  he  walked, 
thinking  of  the  two  women,  —  her  he  loved,  and  her  he 
loathed. — doubting,  hoping,  in  anguish  and  humility; 
he  remembered  the  prayer  of  Jesus,  and  a  part  of  it, 


Another  Sunday.  197 

which  had  always  been  dark,  suddenly  became   clear. 
And  he  prayed  within  himself,  — 

"  O  Father  in  Heaven  !  hallowed  be  thy  name,  which 
is  LOYE  1 

"  O  LOVE  !  lead  us  not  into  temptation  !  " 

This  day  it  had  been  revealed  to  him  that,  by  the  deep 
er  law  of  marriage,  he  and  Eliza  belonged  to  each  other, 
—  and  that  she,  with  her  woman's  nature,  supreme  in 
matters  of  the  heart,  had  recognized  the  truth,  long  since, 
and  been  moved  by  it  when  he  deemed  her  conduct  so 
strange  and  unpardonable.  If  he  had  hitherto  repented 
of  his  unkindness  to  her,  how  did  he  now  gnash  his  teeth 
at  the  recollection  of  his  own  blindness  and  madness  ! 

At  sunset  he  stood  upon  a  hill,  and  overlooked  a 
landscape  which  had  all  his  life  been  familiar  to  him;  — 
the  same  earth,  the  same  sky,  the  spectacle  of  the  sun 
down.  But  now,  for  the  first  time,  by  some  chance, 
bending  his  head,  he  discovered  a  phenomenon,  known  to 
every  shrewd  lover  of  nature.  His  eyes  inverted,  look 
ing  backwards  under  his  shoulder,  saw  the  world  upside- 
down.  The  unusual  order  in  which  the  rays  of  color  im 
pinged  the  nerve  of  vision  exhibited  them  with  surpris 
ing  distinctness  and  delicacy.  The  green  valley,  the 
glimmering  stream,  the  tints  of  early  autumn  on  hillside 
and  cliff,  the  light  on  the  village  roofs  far  and  near,  the 
blue  suffused  horizon,  the  glittering  sun  beyond,  were 
transfigured  with  magical  loveliness.  In  the  cloudless 
purity  of  the  sky,  which  had  scarcely  attracted  his  atten 
tion  before,  burned  the  most  exquisitely  beautiful  belts 
7* 


198  Neighbors'  Wives. 

of  color,  more  splendid  than  any  rainbow.  And  Abel 
said,  "  How  bli;id  we  are  to  the  glories  that  are  always 
before  our  eyes  !  Eliza  was  with  me  every  day.  I  was 
as  ignorant  of  her  dearness  and  worth  as  I  have  always 
been  of  the  beauty  of  the  world  until  now.  Oh,  why 
have  I  discovered  the  charms  of  the  earth  and  sky  just 
as  I  am  threatened  with  being  shut  up  from  the  sight  of 
them  in  the  walls  of  a  prison  ?  And  why  have  I  never 
felt  her  charms  until  now  I  look  at  them  through  the 
grated  windows  of  wedlock  ?  " 

So  saying,  or  rather  thinking,  or  rather  feeling,  —  for 
his  emotions  did  not  shape  themselves  in  words,  —  he 
turned  to  descend  the  hill. 

"  Why  should  I  suffer  in  that  wretched  woman's 
place  ? "  he  repeatedly  asked  himself,  in  the  sweating 
agony  of  his  heart.  "  I  can  force  her  to  write  a  full  confes 
sion.  That  will  exculpate  me.  That  may  lead  to  —  O  my 
God  !  let  me  not  sin  in  this  !  Let  my  duty  be  made 
plain  !  " 

He  walked  far.  He  returned  by  the  common,  and 
stood  struggling  with  himself  in  sight  of  his  house. 
It  was  now  moonlight;  and  the  stars  twinkled  in  their 
eternal  spheres.  He  could  see  the  windows,  behind 
which  his  wife  lay  writhing  with  terror  and  shame.  He 
could  see  the  door  of  his  house,  once  more  rendered  dear 
to  him  by  her,  the  very  thought  of  whom  could  agitate 
and  swell  his  breast. 

"  I  will  talk  with  Eliza,  — I  will  tell  her  everything,  — 
and  she  shall  tell  me  what  to  do." 


Abel  and  Eliza.  199 


XXIII. 

ABEL  AND  ELIZA. 

ABEL  walked  on,  strong  in  his  new  resolution,  and  was 
near  his  own  door,  when  it  opened,  and  some  one  came 
out.  It  was  Eliza  with  her  bonnet  on.  She  was  hurry 
ing  past  him,  when  he  spoke. 

"  Abel  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  start,  not  glad  to  meet  him 
then. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"Not  far;  a  little  walk." 

"  Let  me  go  with  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  —  if  you  wish  to." 

Yet  she  spoke  with  a  hesitation  and  reserve  which 
dampened  his  ardor. 

"  You  are  low-spirited  ?  "  she  asked,  as  they  walked 
by  the  common. 

"  Do  you  wonder  that  I  am  ?  "  said  Abel. 

"No;  it  is  natural;  but  all  will  come  out  right,  Abel, 
I  am  sure.  We  must  all  go  through  the  wilderness 
some  time,  if  we  would  see  the  bright  land  beyond." 

"  You  have  been  through  ?  "  asked  Abel,  falteringly. 

"  I  have,"  she  answered  in  a  low,  very  tender  voice. 
"  Thank  Heaven  !  " 


2OO  Neighbors'  Wives. 

«• 

"  And  you  are  happy  ?  " 

"  I  am  happy,  Abel." 

He  was  startled.  That  she  could  be  happy,  and  at 
peace,  while  before  him  was  tempestuous  darkness,  gave 
him  a  pang. 

"Your  happiness  is  not  my  happiness,"  he  said  de- 
spondingly. 

"But  I  can  reach  out  a  hand  to  help  you,  dear 
brother  ! "  And  she  pressed  the  hand  that  was  laid 
upon  hers. 

That  was  meagre  comfort.  Reach  out  to  him  ?  Only 
that? 

"  Eliza,  I  am  miserable  !  My  married  life  —  you  may 
as  well  be  told  —  is  a  wretched  failure  !  " 

"I  know  it;  I  have  known  it  all  along,"  she  answered. 

"Yes;  and  you  foresaw  it.  And  you  warned  me," 
groaned  Abel. 

"  Did  I  ?  "  There  was  a  slight  tremor  in  her  sweet, 
clear  voice.  "  Well,  it  was  better,  I  suppose,  that  you 
should  follow  your  own  choice." 

"  When  it  was  leading  me  into  the  pit ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  We  are  sometimes  permitted  to  go  very,  very  wrong, 
for  the  benefit  the  experience  will  bring  with  it,  Abel." 

"  But  a  life-long  experience  of  disappointment  and 
misery  I " 

"There  is  something  that  will  sanctify  and  sweeten 
all  that  to  you,"  said  Eliza. 

"  What  is  it,  for  God's  sake  ?  " 

"  Duty  !    Never  swerve  aside  from  that." 


Abel  and  Eliza.  201 

"  But  what  is  my  duty  ?  "  demanded  Abel,  with  a 
bitter  outburs-t.  "What  is  the  duty  of  a  man,  who 
wakes  from  a  dream  of  folly,  to  find  himself  bound  for 
all  time  to  a  woman  who  proves  unworthy  of  his  trust 
and  repugnant  to  his  whole  nature  '?  " 

"  It  is  the  question  of  questions  I  "  said  Eliza,  after  a 
deep  pause. 

"  Which  you  cannot  answer,"  cried  Abel,  "  any  more 
than  I  can." 

"Xo;  nor  as  well.  What  your  private  relations  to 
her  shall  be,"  said  Eliza,  timidly,  "  must  be  left  entirely 
to  your  own  conscience.  But  you  have  assumed  out 
ward  obligations  towards  her,"  she  added,  in  a  firm,  un 
hesitating,  spiritually  clear  tone  of  voice;  "you  have 
taken  her  from  her  father's  house,  and  you  have  vowed 
to  cherish  her  through  evil  report  and  through  good 
report.  You  must  never  forget  that;  you  must  remem 
ber  how  we  all  stand  in  need  of  charity  and  forbearance, 
and  suffer  long  and  be  kind.  Do  not  shrink  from  suf 
fering.  In  the  end  it  will  be  gain  to  you.  I  know." 

She  spoke  with  generous  sympathy,  yet 'out  of  the 
depths  of  a  spirit  whose  tranquillity  and  firm  faith 
seemed  to  remove  her  farther  and  farther  from,  his 
troubled  sphere.  For  she  perceived  his  fever  and  weak 
ness-  perhaps,  also,  she  knew  his  temptation;  and  had 
fortified  herself.  To  the  strength  which  had  been  born 
to  her  out  of  trial  and  endurance,  had  been  added  a 
power  beyond  herself  for  this  hour  and  this  meeting. 
So  that  Abel  might  well  exclaim,  — 


202  Neighbors'   Wives. 

"  You  seem  nearer  to  the  cold  stars  up  there  than  to 
me.  You  talk  like  an  angel.  It  is  all  beautiful  and 
true,  what  you  say;  but  I'd  rather  you'd  be  a  woman 
now.  You  do  not  know  all,  Eliza  !  " — Emotions  crowd 
ed  his  voice.  —  "I  have  something  terrible  to  tell  you." 

They  were  passing  near  the  post-office. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  she  said;  "  then  I  will  hear  you." 

She  stepped  aside  to  drop  a  letter  in  the  box,  then 
rejoined  him. 

"  A  letter  ! "  murmured  Abel.  A  jealous  fear  over 
shadowed  him.  He  took  her  hands;  he  stood  looking 
down  at  her  pale  face  in  the  moonlight  for  a  minute, 
without  a  word. 

"  You  were  going  to  tell  me  something,"  she  said. 

"  You  are  going  to  tell  me  something !  Eliza,  who 
have  you  been  writing  to  ?  " 

"  To  a  friend.     Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  A  dear  friend  ?  " 

"  A  very  dear  friend."  And  the  pale  face  met  his 
gaze  with  a  frank  smile  in  the  moonlight. 

"  A  man,  Eliza  ?  " 

"  A  man,  Abel.     Why  not  ?  " 

He  gave  her  wrist  a  convulsive  pressure,  then  dropped 
it,  and,  with  a  tremendous  sigh,  drew  back  from  her, 
almost  staggering.  Sh,e  was  alarmed.  She  took  his 
hand. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Abel  ?  " 

"It  is  well;  it  is  well!  Come,  Eliza;  we  will  go 
home  now." 


Abel  and  Eliza.  203 

She  leaned  upon  his  arm,  too  full  of  love  and  pity  and 
regret  for  the  mockery  of  words. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  found  friends  in  your  absence," 
he  said,  after  a  brief  silence. 

"  I  have  found  some  very  excellent  friends,"  she  an 
swered. 

"  You  did  not  wish  me  to  know  you  had  a  letter  to 
mail.  I  understand  now." 

"  I  think  it  ig  better  you  should  know,  Abel." 

This  was  not  the  reply  he  hoped  for.  Every  minute 
and  every  word  seemed  to  sharpen  the  fangs  that 
gnawed  his  heart.  He  could  not  endure  suspense. 

"  When  are  you  to  be  married  ?  "  he  demanded,  ab 
ruptly. 

"  I  don't  know.  Not  while  I  feel  that  I  am  needed 
here,"  came  the  low,  unfaltering  response. 

"  I  beg  of  you,"  said  Abel,  "  don't  let  your  regard  for 
us  interfere  with  your  happiness,"  —  with  something  of 
his  irrepressible  despair  writhing  in  his  voice. 

"Duty  first  and  always,  and  happiness  cannot  fail," 
said  Eliza. 

'"  I  hope  he  is  worthy  of  you,"  he  added. 

"  I  wish,"  she  replied,  "  that  I  was  half  as  worthy  of 
him." 

They  passed  on  in  silence;  his  hot  thoughts  almost 
stifling  him. 

"  But  you  were  to  tell  me  something,"  she  reminded 
him. 

"  It  is  this,"  said  Abel.     "  I  thank  you  from  the  bot- 


204  Neighbors    Wives. 

torn  of  my  soul  for  your  advice  to  me.  I  shall  do  my 
duty." 

"  I  am  sure  you  will,  Abel !  " 

"  Yes,  —  thanks  to  you.  Whatever  happens,  I  can  suf 
fer.  God  grant  your  married  life  may  be  happier  than 
mine  has  been  I  " 

Eliza's  serenity  was  fast  forsaking  her.  She  loved  Abel 
too  well,  she  sympathized  with  his  sorrow  too  much,  to 
answer  now  with  calm  words  of  counsel.  Misgivings, 
also,  it  may  be,  with  regard  to  her  own  future  and  duty, 
disquieted  her. 

What  right  had  she,  loving  this  man,  to  be  happy  in 
another's  arms  ?  Had  she  sinned,  when,  lonely  and  cold 
and  famished,  she  accepted  the  solace  of  a  good  man's 
affection  ?  Because  one  hope  had  perished,  should  she 
go  through  God's  bright  universe  refusing  to  be  com 
forted  ?  Because  Abel  was  married,  should  she  forever 
obstinately  shun  the  high  destiny  of  woman, —  wifehood 
and  motherhood  ? 

These  were  no  new  questions.  Long,  in  anguish  and 
supplication,  she  had  wrestled  with  the  great  problem. 
Many  a  woman  and  many  a  man  has  wrestled  with  it 
the  same,  —  wrestles  with  it  still.  Each  must  solve  it  for 
himself  or  herself.  It  is  good  to  live  true  to  one's  own 
heart ;  sacrificing  all  things  else  to  that  ;  through  ab 
sence,  and  lapse  of  time,  and  death  of  hope.  And  to 
renounce  the  impossible,  accepting  cheerfully  the  best 
that  is  given,  is  also  good.  Consider  it  well ;  let  the 
soul  choose  ;  and  who  shall  condemn  ? 


Abel  and  Eliza.  205 

Eliza  had  chosen.  Yes,  and  even  now  she  felt  that  she 
had  chosen  wisely.  Excepting  only  Abel,  this  other,  of 
all  men,  stood  highest  in  her  regard.  She  had  acquainted 
him  with  all  the  doubts  of  her  heart ;  nor  had  she  left 
him  to  enter  this  ordeal  of  danger  without  his  consent 
and  blessing. 

And  in  all  things,  so  noble  did  he  appear  to  her,  so 
dear  had  he  rendered  himself  by  his  generosity  and  truth, 
that  she  knew  she  could  make  him  a  true  and  happy 
wife.  Yet  once  more,  to-night  by  Abel's  side,  stirred  by 
his  love  and  grief,  the  old  perturbations  arise.  Only 
solitude  and  prayer  can  put  them  again  at  rest.  She 
was  glad  that  the  gate  was  near,  and  that  Abel  did  not 
offer  to  go  in  with  her. 

"  I  shall  walk  a  little  further,"  he  said.  "  Comfort 
mother  till  I  come." 

And  the  gate  closed  between  them  with  a  harsh  sound. 
And  both  felt  that  another  gate  shut  also  between  them  ; 
the  gate  whose  hinges  are  providence,  and  whose  latch  is 
fate. 

"  Idiot !  idiot !  "  muttered  Abel,  with  angry  and  bit 
ter  scorn  of  himself.  "  I  merit  what  I  have.  I  will 
take  with  calmness  what  is  still  to  come.  Tongue,  hold 
your  peace  !  Misery,  do  your  worst  !  Misfortunes, 
rain,  hail,  pour  !  " 

He  walked  in  the  placid  and  smiling  moonlight.     And 

something  of  the   silence  and  vastness  and  chasteness 

of  the  night  glided  into  him.     His  thoughts  grew  great 

and  solemn  and  tender.     To  go  to  prison  for  another's 

18 


206  Neighbors'  Wives. 

sake  did  not  seem  much  to  him  then.  To  die  for  an 
other's  sake  did  not  seem  so  bitter.  He  murmured 
Eliza's  name  with  a  prayer  for  her  happiness.  He 
thought  of  Faustina  with  gentleness  and  compassion. 
He  remembered  how  near  his  mother's  feet  were  to  the 
still  portals  of  eternity,  and  smiled.  Only  when  he 
thought  of  his  child  he  wept. 

For  his  child's  sake  he  would  willingly  humble  him 
self;  and,  seeing  a  light  in  the  cooper's  house,  he  be 
thought  him  to  go  in,  and  try  if  it  were  possible  to 
conciliate  the  enemy. 


The  Night.  207 


XXIY. 

THE  NIGHT. 

THE  Apjohns  were  just  going  to  bed;  and  Cooper 
John  came  to  the  door,  with  a  candle,  in  his  shirt  and 
trousers.  He  looked  aghast  at  Abel. 

"  Come  in:  to  be  sure,  to  be  sure  !  "  he  said.  "  Prudy  I 
Prudy !  " 

Prudy  came  out  of  the  bedroom,  presently,  in  her 
petticoat,  with  a  shawl  over  her  shoulders,  nodding  sar 
castically. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Dane?"  she  carelessly  in 
quired,  arranging  a  corner  of  the  shawl  the  better  to 
cover  her  portliness.  "John  Apjohn,"  —  turning  to  the 
shivering  cooper,  —  "  go  to  bed  !  " 

Meekly  snuffing,  John  set  the  candle  on  the  table,  and 
withdrew. 

"  Is  it  peace  ?  "  said  Abel,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"  Peace,  Abel  Dane  ?  I  should  say  peace  !  "  retorted 
the  grim  housewife,  scornfully  laughing.  "  I  wonder 
the  word  don't  blister  your  mouth  !  Peace,  after  sech 
treatment  as  I  have  had  from  you  and  your  upstart 
wife  !  I  say  for't  1 " 

"  Prudy,"  whispered  the  cooper,  putting  his  head  out 
of  the  bedroom. 


208  Neighbors'   Wives. 

"  What  now  ?  "  she  demanded,  sharply. 

"  Let  it  be  peace,  Prudy;  let  it  be  peace,"  said  John. 

"  Shet  up  !  "  ejaculated  Prudence. 

And  the  imploring  visage  was  slowly  withdrawn,  and 
the  door  softly  closed  again. 

"When  you  were  in  my  garden  a  week  ago,"  said 
Abel,  "  did  I  look  at  you  with  scorn  ?  Did  I  magnify 
your  offence  ?  Did  I  set  myself  up  as  your  judge,  and 
make  haste  to  pronounce  sentence  ?  " 

"No,  no;  to  be  sure!  Eemember  that,  Prudy!" 
answered  a  ghostly  voice  in  the  direction  of  the  bed- 
ro.om. 

"  No,  to  be  sure  !  "  repeated  Prudence,  with  a  vin 
dictive  toss.  "  He  didn't  da's  to,  to  my  face.  But  what 
did  he  do  behind  my  back  ?  —  the  sarpent !  Strung  to- 
matuses  on  to  my  door  !  And  that  wasn't  enough,  but 
you  must  come  and  rob  us  of  our  hard-earned  money, 
—  thinkin'  we  wouldn't  da's  to  make  a  fuss  about  it,  I 
s'pose.  But  you'll  see,  —  you'll  see,  Abel  Dane  !  Talk 
of  peace  !  Ha  !  ha  !  " 

Abel  commenced,  protesting  his  innocence  of  the 
string  of  "  tomatuses." 

"  Tut,  tut,"  said  Mrs.  Apjohn;  "I  s'pose  you'll  deny 
you  stole  the  money  next  !  " 

Once  more  the  meek,  bald  pate  of  the  cooper  was 
pushed  into  the  room. 

"  Hear  what  the  man  has  got  to  say,  Prudy  dear,  — 
do  !" 

"  John  Apjohn  !  " 


The  Night.  209 

"  What,  Prudy  ?  " 

"  I  said  go  to  bed." 

"  Yes,  Prudy  !  "     (Exit  bald  head.) 

u  My  worthy  woman,"  then  said  Abel,  seating  him 
self,  and  speaking  candidly  and  earnestly,  "  I  have  come 
to  talk  with  you  as  neighbors  should  talk,  and  I  beg  of 
you  to  hear  me  with  patience  and  without  prejudice." 

4'  Wai,  sir,"  —  Prudence  occupied  the  wood-box  for  a 
seat,  and  pulled  her  shawl  together  and  looked  crank,  — 
"  I  hear  you,  sir  !  " 

"  I  see  it  is  useless  for  me  to  deny  the  charge  of  in 
sulting  you  with  tomato-vines,  and  I  have  no  intention 
of  setting  up  a  claim  to  the  fifty  dollars,  which,  I  pre 
sume,  belongs  rightfully  to  you;  but  I  here  solemnly 
protest  that  I  never  meant  to  rob  you,  or  injure  your 
reputation,  or  wound  your  feelings.  I  call  Jleaven  to 
be  my  witness  !  " 

Again  the  bedroom-door  opened,  and  again  the  coop 
er's  head  appeared,  this  time  writh  a  night-cap  on. 

"  Prudy,"  he  said,  in  an  awe-struck  voice,  "  he  calls 
Heaven  to  witness  !  " 

"  He  didn't  call  you  I "  retorted  the  Juno  of  this  little 
Olympus,  and  the  night-capped  Jupiter  disappeared 
again. 

"  Furthermore,"  said  Abel,  "  I  pledge  you  my  honor 
that  whatever  reparation  can  be  made  for  the  injuries 
you  complain  of,  shall  be  made.  And  I  tell  you  I  am 
sincerely  sorry  for  all  that  has  happened;  and  for  what 
ever  I  have  done  amiss  I  humbly  ask  your  pardon." 
18* 


2io  Neighbors'  Wives. 

"  Wai,  sir  ?  " 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Apjohn,  I  believe  it  depends  upon  you 
whether  this  charge  against  me  shall  be  prosecuted.  If 
we  can  come  to  an  understanding,  and  you  withdraw 
your  complaint,  there  will  not  be  much  difficulty  in 
avoiding  an  indictment.  Question  your  own  conscience 
before  you  answer,"  said  Abel,  foreboding  evil  from  the 
grimace  and  toss  with  which  she  prepared  to'  reply; 
"  and  consider  whether  you  can  afford  to  be  unmerciful; 
remembering  that  what  mercy  we  show  shall  be  shown 
to  us." 

Prudence  pulled  her  shawl  together  nervously  and 
compressed  her  lips,  and  elevated  her  chin  and  said,  — 

"  Wai,  Abel  Dane,  you've  had  your  say ;  now  hear  me. 
Nobody  can  accuse  me  of  havin'  an  Injin  temper;  and 
you  can't  say't  ever  in  all  my  life  I  spoke  of  you  one  mis- 
beholden  word.  You  was  always  as  decent  a  kind  of  a 
man  till  you  got  married,  as  ever  I  knowed ;  and  you 
would  be  now,  if  it  wa'n't  for  that  pesky  proud  wife  of 
your'n,  that  I'm  bound  to  come  up  with  some  way,  and 
I  only  wish  it  was  her  that  took  the  money,  and  not  you  ! 
She's  made  a  fool  of  ye,  and  made  a  proud,  desaitful, 
mean,  underhanded  scamp  of  you  that  was  a  perty  honest 
and  tolerable  respectable  neighbor  afore.  I  feel  bad  for 
you,  Abel  Dane;  and,  as  I  said,  I  only  wish  it  was  her 
that  I  could  prove  took  the  money;  then  if  she  wouldn't 
smart  for't,  I  miss  my  guess." 

Abel  sighed;  for  now  he  saw  how  vain  it  would  be  to 
shift  the  responsibility  of  the  theft  from  himself  to  his 


The  Night.  211 

wife,  in  the  hope  that  their  enemy  would  be  more  merci 
ful  to  her  than  to  him. 

The  night-capped  head  was  at  the  bedroom  door  again ; 
but  it  was  only  moved  with  a  slow  and  dismal  shake,  in 
silence. 

"You  are  a  hard-hearted  woman,"  said  Abel,  sadly 
smiling,  as  he  rose  to  go. 

"  Mabby  I  be  !  I  can't  help  it !  Human  natur'  is  hu 
man  natur' !  "  Prudence  grinned,  put  her  hand  on  her 
knee  for  a  support,  and  got  up  from  the  wood-box.  "  I 
tell  ye,  I  never  laid  up  anything  ag'in  you,  Abel;  and  if 
it  wa'n't  for  that  stuck-up  critter,  your  wife,  we  never'd 
quarrel;  though  I  don't  know  but  you're  'bout  as  bad  as 
she  is  now.  There ! "  —  holding  her  shawl  together  with 
one  hand,  and  taking  up  the  candle  with  the  other,  — 
"You've  had  your  say,  and  I've  had  my  say,  and  now7 
good-night." 

"  One  word  more.  Remember  I  have  a  mother  and  a 
child."  The  emotion  in  Abel's  voice  would  have  shaken 
Prudence,  if  it  had  been  possible  to  shake  her.  But  she 
only  compressed  her  lips  as  before  and  said,  — 

"I've  thought  of  them;  I've  thought  it  all  over;  and 
I've  said  all  I've  got  to  say." 

The  cooper,  at  these  words,  retreated,  and  crept  in 
between  the  sheets  with  a  groan. 

"Very  well,"  answered  Abel,  sternly  and  impres 
sively.  "  I  have  done.  I  leave  you  to  your  conscience 
and  your  Maker." 

"  I  guess  my  conscience  and  my  Maker  will  use  me 


212  Neighbors'  Wives. 

perty  well,  sir  !  "  And,  with  sarcastic  courtesy,  Mrs. 
Apjohn  lighted  him  from  the  door  with  the  candle. 
"Remember  me  to  your  wife,"  she  added;  "and  tell 
her,  if  you  please,  what  I  say." 

Eliza  had  retired  with  the  old  lady  to  her  room, 
when  Abel  returned  home.  He  found  the  kitchen  for 
saken,  silent,  and  lighted  only  by  the  pale  shimmer  of 
the  moon.  He  entered  the  sitting-room ;  that,  too,  was 
forsaken,  silent,  and  lighted  only  by  the  pale  shimmer 
of  the  moon.  There  was  something  in  the  aspect  of  his 
house  that  struck  like  desolation  to  his  soul. 

Half  an  hour  later,  he  opened  gently  the  door  of 
Faustina's  chamber,  and  stood  at  the  threshold.  There 
he  stood,  dark  and  stern,  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  looked 
in.  By  the  bedside  sat  Melissa,  with  Ebby  crying  in 
her  arms.  In  the  bed,  covered  completely,  even  to  the 
crown  of  her  head,  round  which  the  bedclothes  were 
twisted  in  a  disordered  heap,  lay  the  boy's  mother. 

"  O  papa  !  "  said  Ebby,  stretching  up  his  little  arms, 
in  his  night-gown. 

Melissa  started,  and  gave  a  frightened  look  at  her 
master. 

"  Put  that  child  to  bed  !  "  said  Abel. 

"Oh,  I  did,  sir!"  Melissa  hastened  to  explain.  "I 
put  him  to  bed  all  of  an  hour'n'a'f  ago." 

"  Then  what  is  he  here  for  ?  " 

"She  wanted  him;  she  had  me  take  him  up,  and 
bring  him  to  her,  jest  so's't  she  could  see  him,  she  said; 
her  own  baby,  so  !  " 


The  Night.  213 

Abel  was  touched;  as  no  doubt  Faustina  meant  he 
should  be,  when  he  should  learn  what  the  yearning,  ma 
ternal  heart  of  her  had  prompted. 

"  Why  don't  she  look  at  him,  then  ?  What  was  the 
child  crying  for  ?  "  she  heard  his  deep  voice  demand. 

"  O  sir  !  mabby  you  think  she  don't  keer  for  her 
baby;  but  she  dooes  !  "  —  This  was  a  part  of  the  lesson 
Faustina  had  taught  Melissa,  and  she  repeated  it  very 
pathetically.  —  "And  when  she  wanted  to  have  him  in 
bed  with  her,  and  he  didn't  want  to  go,  she  was  so 
worked  !  her  own  baby  so,  you  know.  And  she  jest 
kivered  up  her  head,  and  said,  no  matter,  she  would  die, 
and  he  wouldn't  have  no  mother,  not  no  more;  and 
that's  what  made  him  cry." 

"  Me  dot  new  mamma  ! "  Ebby  declared,  with  a  sob 
of  subsiding  grief  between  the  words. 

"  Take  him  to  bed,"  said  Abel. 

"  Tiss,  papa  !  "  implored  the  beautiful,  aggrieved  face, 
through  its  tears. 

The  father  gave  the  wished-for  kiss ;  and  Melissa  took 
the  child  away.  Then  Abel  shut  the  door,  and  sat  down 
by  the  bed. 

All  this  time,  Faustina  had  not  stirred.  Abel  gazed 
at  the  vortex  of  bedclothes  in  which  she  had  coiled  her 
self,  and  sighed,  and  clenched  his  teeth  hard,  and  waited. 
O  memory  !  was  this  his  marriage-bed  ? 

"Faustina!"  No  motion;  no  response.  "Have  you 
anything  to  say  to  me  ?  "  he  continued. 

"  I   won't  stir.      I'll    make    him   think   I'm  dead  ! " 


214  Neighbors'  Wives. 

thought  the  wretched  being  under  the  clothes.  Then 
she  almost  wished  she  was  dead,  and  could  stand  by  and 
witness  his  terror  and  remorse  when  he  should  lift  the 
sheet  and  discover  her  lifeless  form. 

But  it  was  a  difficult  part  to  play.  Madam  was 
smothering;  and  if  she  kept  covered  much  longer,  she 
felt  that,  instead  of  making  believe  dead,  she  would  be 
dead  in  earnest.  That  was  not  so  pleasant  to  think  of, 
notwithstanding  the  fancied  satisfaction  of  breaking  his 
heart  with  the  sight  of  her  lovely  corpse.  Vanity  and 
spite  was  not  quite  equal  to  the  occasion ;  and  she  waited 
accordingly,  with  increasing  ache  and  anxiety,  for  him  to 
make  another  and  more  moving  appeal,  which  she  re 
solved  beforehand  not  to  resist.  Why  didn't  he  speak,  and 
afford  her  the  longed-for  excuse  for  uncovering?  He  was 
in  no  hurry ;  he  took  his  time ;  deliberate  was  Abel,  —  a 
good  deal  more  so,  she  thought,  than  he  would  have 
been,  had  his  own  head  been  under  the  blanket. 

But  it  was  serious  business  with  her,  poor  thing,  de 
spite  all  her  foolish  artifice.  Dread  and  despair  were 
with  her  there  under  the  bedclothes. 

"  If  you  have  nothing  to  say  to  me,"  Abel  resumed, 
at  last,  "  I  have  still  a  few  words  which  I  want  you  to 
listen  to.  Will  you  hear  me  ?  " 

At  that,  the  arms  were  suddenly  disengaged,  the 
clothes  thrown  back,  and  staring  eyes  rolled  up  wildly  at 
Abel,  from  a  tragic  face  still  half  concealed  by  rumpled 
pillows  and  tangled  hair. 

"  Is  this  you,  Faustina  ?  "  exclaimed  Abel,  astonished 
and  heartsick  at  the  sight. 


The  Night.  215 

Upon  which  she  glared,  and  rolled  her  orbs,  and  grated 
her  teeth,  with  superior  artistic  effect,  for  a  matter  of 
twenty  seconds,  or  thereabouts;  then  dived  again,  and 
twisted  herself  up  in  the  bed-covering,  with  writhings 
and  moanings  extraordinary.  Abel  sighed  deeply,  and 
waited  patiently  for  her  to  come  up  to  breathe  again, 
which  she  was  not  slow  in  doing,  then  said,  — 

"  When  you  are  calm,  and  in  your  right  mind,  I  will 
speak." 

In  her  right  mind  ?  That  gave  her  a  cue  to  another 
fine  piece  of  acting.  What  if  she  could  convince  him 
she  was  insane,  —  overwhelm  him  with  a  spectacle  of  the 
wreck  his  hard-heartedness  had  made  of  her  ?  She 
would  try  it,  —  the  inconsiderate  and  impulsive  creature. 
And,  indeed,  she  was  not  altogether  in  her  right  mind, 
but  just  excited  enough  with  fear  and  suffering  to  enter 
well  into  the  part. 

This  is  what  she  did: 

She  sat  up  in  bed,  swept  her  hair  from  her  face  with 
both  hands,  in  a  terrific  frizzled  mass,  stared  at  Abel 
again  frightfully,  rolled  her  eyes  hideously,  grinned 
idiotically,  chattered  her  teeth,  and  burst  into  a  laugh  of 
frenzy. 

She  laughed  to  be  heard  a  mile.  She  laughed  with  an 
ease  and  inspiration  for  the  exercise  which  astonished 
herself,  and  without  cessation  or  interval,  except  to 
catch  her  breath  and  recommence.  She  laughed,  in 
short,  until  she  laughed  away  all  self-control,  and  could 
not  stop,  for  the  life  of  her;  having,  as  you  perceive, 


2i6  Neighbors'1  Wives. 

like  an  actor  of  first-class  imagination,  slipped  swiftly 
from  the  counterfeit  into  the  reality, —just  as  some 
times  the  elder  Booth,  from  playing  Richard,  became 
Richard,  and  would  rant  and  foam  at  the  mouth,  and 
fight  the  feigning  Richmond  in  right  deadly  fashion. 

Madam  had,  in  fact,  gone  off  in  a  genuine  fit  of  hys 
terics.  She  laughed  till  she  sobbed,  and  sobbed  till  she 
fell  into  convulsions,  in  which  she  was  wrenched  and 
rolled,  like  a  body  in  the  breakers  of  an  Atlantic  storm, 
and  which  finally  heaved  her,  breathless  and  quivering, 
upon  the  strands  of  unconsciousness. 

And  Abel  thought  her  dead.  JECe  stood  like  one 
stunned,  gazing  at  her  with  a  stony  wonder,  his  lips 
parted,  and  his  hair  lifting  with  horror.  Deep,  solemn 
gladness,  an  awful  hope,  mingled  with  his  fear. 

He  looked  across  the  bed  at  Eliza,  for  she  was  there, 

—  all  the  women  in  the  house  having  been  summoned  by 
the  hysteric  shrieks.    Their  eyes  met  over  the  insensible 
form.     Something  like  lightning  flashed  between  them, 

—  an  instant  only,  —  and  it  passed  —  forever. 
Faustina  was  not  dead,  nor  would  she  die  yet  for  a 

score  of  years  at  least.  Things  do  not  happen  in  life  as 
they  do  in  romances.  'Tis  pity,  for  now  might  we  bring 
our  tale  joyfully  to  a  close,  would  she  but  revive 
enough  to  make  a  free  confession,  before  witnesses,  of 
her  sins  against  the  Apjohns,  murmur  her  repentance, 
ask  to  see  a  clergyman,  place  Eliza's  hand  in  Abel's, 
declare  they  are  for  each  other,  smile  contentedly,  and 
die  at  a  mest  convenient  season.  Then  Eliza's  absent 


The  Night.  217 

lover  should  be  opportunely  tossed  by  some  iron  bull  of 
a  locomotive,  or  sent  to  heaven  by  an  exploding  steam 
boat  boiler;  leaving,  of  course,  a  will  in  her  favor;  when 
nothing  would  remain  but  for  the  surviving  hero  and 
heroine  to  be  married,  and  enter  upon  the  enjoyment  of 
that  limpid  existence  of  lymph  and  honey  miscalled 
happiness,  which  never  was  on  earth,  and  never  will  be 
anywhere,  probably,  except  in  story-books. 

But  this  is  no  fine  fiction;  no  far  away  Eden  of  un 
imaginable  beauty  this,  but  a  plain  little  garden-plat, 
where  a  few  common  flowers  grow,  with  many  coarse 
plants  and  weeds,  rooted  in  this  homely  New  England 
soil,  and  breathing  the  actual  air  of  the  present.  And 
we  must  plod  our  way  patiently  to  the  end  of  the  pro 
saic  path. 

"  Eub  her  hand  ! "  cried  Eliza,  setting  a  brisk  exam 
ple,  having  first  dashed  water  into  Faustina's  face. 

"  Stand  her  on  her  head  and  let  the  blood  run  back 
into  it  ag'in  !  "  gasped  Melissa,  seeing  the  utter  pallor  of 
her  mistress,  and-  having  some  dim  notion  that  the  head 
was  a  vital  part,  and  that  when  the  blood  forsook  that, 
then  came  death. 

"  Bathe  her  nostrils  with  the  land  of  Canaan  !  "  said 
the  old  lady,  meaning  the  contents  of  a  camphor-bottle 
which  she  brought. 

"  Brandy  !  "  ejaculated  Abel,  remembering  that  a  few 
drops  of  his  little  store  of  spirits  had  been  saved  by  his 
timely  interruption  of  a  certain  convivial  entertainment, 
not  many  nights  ago. 
19 


218  Neighbors'  Wives. 

All  the  proposed  remedies  were  tried,  except  Melis 
sa's,  who  could  find  no  one  to  favor  her  novel  theory  of 
the  blood.  And  the  result  was  that  Faustina  came 
duly  back  to  consciousness,  without  having  been  stood 
upon  her  head;  and  Abel  had  —  shall  we  say  the  satis 
faction  ?  —  of  seeing  her  breathe  and  live  again. 

But  by  this  time  all  his  unworthy  thoughts  and  wicked 
wishes  regarding  her  had  given  place  to  repentance  and 
pity.  And  as  soon  as  he  could  dispense  with  assistance, 
he  sent  the  rest  away,  and  remained  alone  to  watch  by 
her  bedside. 

"  Don't  let  me  die  !  "  whispered  Faustina,  in  a  weak 
voice  of  entreaty. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Abel,  confidently,  "  you  shall  not  die." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  do  it,"  she  added,  whimperingly,  in 
terror  of  what  had  happened. 

"  I  know  you  didn't,"  he  answered,  kindly.  "  But 
you  must  keep  perfectly  quiet  now.  I  shall  stay  with 
you.  No  harm  will  come  whilst  I  am  here." 

She  looked  up  gratefully  into  his  face. 

"  Oh,  you  are  good,  Abel !     Kiss  me,  —  won't  you  ?  " 

And  he  touched  his  lips  to  her  cheek. 

"  Oh,  we  can  be  happy  yet,  —  cairt  we  ?"  she  pleaded. 

"  I  hope  so,"  he  replied,  to  quiet  her. 

"  Oh,  and  you  will  not"  — 

He  knew  what  she  would  say. 

"  No,  I  will  not,"  he  promised. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you  !  "  and  she  covered  his 
hand  with  kisses.  "  But  tell  me  true,  —  you  will  save 
me?" 


The  Night.  219 

"  I  tell  you  true,  I  will.  At  every  risk  to  -myself,  I 
will  shield  you.  And  I  forgive  you,  too.,  There;  now 
rest." 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  ! "  she  cried,  in  an  ecstasy  of  gratitude; 
"  you  are  such  a  good  Abel !  And  we  shall  be  so  happy 
once  more  !  " 

But  Abel's  brow  was  dark. 

"  You  must  keep  quiet,  Faustina,"  he  said.  "  If  you 
have  another  such  fit,  you  may  die  in  it." 

"And  you  don't  want  me  to  die  ?  "  she  said,  with  that 
childlike  simplicity  which  was  one  of  her  girlish  arts  to 
please  or  touch. 

"  I  want  you  to  live,"  replied  Abel,  in  a  low  voice, 
out  of  a  conscience  grim  as  night. 

"  Come  to  bed  then,  — wo  n't  you,  my  Abel  ?  " 

"  Uo:  I  shall  sit  up  and  watch." 

"  But  you  won't  leave  me  ?  "  she  implored,  with  self 
ish  and  clinging  fear.  "  And  —  tell  me  again  you  won't 
expose  me,  not  even  to  her,  —  Eliza." 

"  Not  even  to  her.  The  secret  is  locked  here."  Abel's 
hand  pressed  his  bosom.  "  Now  sleep." 

And  she  slept.  And  he  watched  by  her  side  all 
night.  And  the  lamp  burned  out,  and  the  moon  set 
upon  his  watching,  and  the  sun  rose. 

And  Abel  had  not  said  to  her  what  he  entered  her 
room  that  night  to  say ;  but  he  kept  that  also  locked  in 
his  breast. 


22O  Neighbor^  Wives. 


XXV. 

FIAT  JUSTITIA. 

ELIZA  had  written  to  her  friend  of  the  condition  of 
affairs  in  her  old  home.  He  promptly  and  generously 
replied :  — 

"  Your  place  seems  to  be  there  for  the  present.  ...  I 
trust  all  to  you;  for  I  know  you  will  do  what  is  right." 

So  Eliza  remained.  And  more,  —  she  placed  what 
was  left  of  her  savings  at  Abel's  disposal. 

It  was  a  grief  for  him  to  be  obliged  to  accept  still 
further  pecuniary  assistance  from  her. 

"  It  is  all  one,"  she  said.  "  Even  if  I  did  not  owe  you 
more  for  years  of  kindness  to  me  than  I  can  ever  hope 
to  acknowledge,  still  I  am  your  sister,  you  know,  and 
all  that  is  mine  is  yours."  And  she  forced  her  earnings 
into  his  hands. 

"  I  can't !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  have  no  right  to  your 
poor  little  purse,  Eliza." 

"  Don't  you  go  to  making  fun  of  it,  if  it  is  little,"  she 
cheerily  replied.  "  I  am  little,  and,  I  tell  you,  little 
things  are  not  to  be  despised." 

"  But  your  marriage,"  said  Abel.  "  You  must  not 
go  to  your  husband  penniless.' 


Fiat  Justitia.  221 

"  He  is  well-off,  and  needs  none  of  my  money.  He 
has  told  me  so." 

"I  — am  glad  he  is  well  off,"  faltered  Abel,  with  an 
indescribable  contraction  of  the  heart. 

"So  am  I  —  for  his  sake.  And  for  ours,  too,  Abel," 
she  added,  frankly.  "  Tor  you  will  need  more  than  I 
have,  to  pay  your  lawyers;  he  mentions  that  in  his 
letter,  and  offers  to  lend  you." 

This  was  rather  too  much  for  proud  Abel  Dane.  He 
choked  upon  it  a  minute,  and  wrung  her  hand. 

"  Thank  him  for  me.  I  am  in  your  power;  I  am  at 
your  mercy,  Eliza.  Don't  be  too  kind  to  me  !  " 

So  it  was  settled  that  Eliza  should  remain  till  after 
Abel's  trial.  And  there  was  need;  for  the  old  lady 
could  not  endure  even  the  thought  of  her  going;  and 
Ebby  clung  to  his  new  mamma;  and  Faustina  continued 
a  prey  to  depression  and  nervous  caprice ;  and  both  the 
management  and  cheerfulness  of  the  household  depended 
upon  Eliza. 

And  the  weeks  went  swiftly  by,  and  the  time  of  the 
trial  arrived. 

It  was  now  December,  — •  a  bleak  sky  overhead,  a  bar 
ren,  paralyzed  world  beneath,  cold  winds  blowing, 
streams  freezing  over,  and  thin  flurries  of  snow  flying 
here  and  there  in  the  sullen,  disheartened  weather. 

During  two  days  the  trial  progressed;   two  days  of 
dread  and  uncertainty  to  the  innocent  accused,  and  no 
less  to  the  guilty  unaccused;  two  days  of  general  ex 
citement  in  the  village,  and  of  sharp  forensic  fencing, 
19* 


222  Neighbors'  Wives. 

harassing  legal  quibbles,  flushed  and  gaping  crowds,  and 
much  unwholesome  heat  and  fetor  in  the  court-room. 

With  the  feverish  details  of  those  days,  —  how  Abel 
bore  himself  in  that  shameful  public  position,  confront 
ing  the  abusive  attorneys,  the  grave  judges,  the  silent 
twelve,  and  the  open-mouthed  multitude;  what  his 
mother  suffered,  awaiting  the  result  which  was  to  de 
cide  not  his  fate  only,  but  which  would  also  prove  a 
word  of  life  or  death  to  her;  and  how  Faustina  experi 
enced  a  plentiful  lack  of  amusement  during  those  two 
days  and  nights,  —  it  is  needless  to  weary  the  reader. 

It  was  the  wish  of  Abel's  lawyers  to  have  both  his 
wife  and  mother  present  in  the  court-room.  The  age, 
infirmities,  and  tears  of  the  elder  lady,  and  the  beauty  and 
affection  of  the  younger,  could  not  fail,  they  argued,  to 
have  a  favorable  effect  on  the  jury.  And  Ebby,  held  up 
in  their  arms,  would  have  been  an  important  addition  to 
the  group.  But  old  Mrs.  Dane  was  already  worn  out 
with  anxiety  in  his  behalf,  and  he  knew  that  it  was  not 
possible  for  her  to  support  the  fatigue  and  agitation  of 
witnessing  his  arraignment.  And  Faustina  was  kept  at 
home  by  her  own  miserable  terrors  and  an  illness  either 
feigned  or  real. 

With  two  invalids  to  care  for,  Eliza  could  not  easily 
leave,  to  go  and  sit  by  Abel's  side  in  this  hour  of  doubt 
and  peril.  But,  on  the  morning  of  the  third  day,  she  felt 
irresistibly  impelled  to  the  court-house.  The  case  had 
been  given  to  the  jury  the  night  before,  and  at  the  open 
ing  of  the  court  it  was  expected  they  would  bring  in 


Fiat   Justitta.  223 

their  verdict.  She  could  not  wait  for  the  news  to  reach 
her;  but  she  must  hasten,  and  be  on  the  spot. 

Accordingly,  she  left  Melissa  in  charge,  and  set  out  on 
foot  for  the  centre  of  the  town.  It  was  full  two  miles  to 
the  court-house.  She  walked  all  the  way,  through  a 
blinding  storm.  The  snow,  which  had  evidently  been 
trying  hard  to  fall  during  those  two  days,  was  now  fill 
ing  the  air,  and  whirling  in  the  wintry  gale.  It  drove 
full  in  Eliza's  face,  but  little  she  cared  for  it,  hastening 
on  a  business  the  thoughts  of  which  were  far  more  biting 
and  bitter. 

The  court-room  was  already  crowded  on  her  arrival; 
and,  to  her  despair,  she  found  herself  unable  to  penetrate 
the  steaming  throngs  that  choked  the  passages.  She  did 
not  know  the  way  to  the  more  private  entrance,  where, 
as  a  friend  of  the  accused,  she  might  have  gained  admis 
sion  and  found  a  seat  near  his  side.  So,  after  all  her 
trouble,  she  could  not  get  in;  and,  being  shorter  than 
anybody  else,  she  could  see  nothing  but  the  elbows  and 
backs  between  which  she  was  soon  tightly  wedged,  the 
gray,  unsympathizing  ceiling  when  she  looked  up,  and 
now  and  then,  when  she  looked  down,  a  glimpse  of  the 
little  close-shaded  puddles  of  trodden  and  melting  snow 
under  her  feet. 

The  court  had  not  yet  come  in;  and  some  of  the  spec 
tators  near  her  filled  the  interval  with  conversation  and 
comment. 

"  They  say  his  wife  used  to  be  a  great  belle,"  said  a 
red-cheeked  maiden. 


224  Neighbors'    Wives. 

"  Used  to  ?  "  retorted  an  affectedly  soft  masculine  voice. 
"  Handsomest  woman  th'  is  in  this  county,  to-day  !  " 

"  I  want  to  know  ! "  whistled  a  toothless  woman's 
voice.  "  You  know  her,  then  ?  " 

"Like  a  book;  neighbor  o'  mine  !  such  a  figger  !  and 
eyes,  —  glorious,  you  better  believe  !  " 

"  Is  she  so  very  perty,  though  ?  "  asked  she  of  the  red 
cheeks,  with  a  slightly  envious  intonation. 

"•  Pufficly  magnificent,  I  assure  ye  !  Unlucky  day  for 
her,  though,  when  she  married  that  sneaking  Abel  Dane." 

Moved  by  an  impulse  of  angry  indignation,  Eliza 
thrust  herself  forward,  till  she  could  see,  over  the  old 
woman's  hood,  the  half-shut,  simpering  eyes  and  smirking 
mouth  of  the  speaker.  She  would  have  been  tempted  to 
strike  that  lying  mouth,  had  it  not  been  safe  beyond  her 
reach. 

"  So  you  set  it  down  he's  guilty,"  whistled  the  old 
woman. 

"  Guilty  !  "  echoed  the  young  man.  "  Nobody  doubts 
that,  that  knows  him  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  Oh,  ain't  it  too  bad,  aunt !  "  said  the  girl.  "  They 
say  his  conduct  has  broke  her  heart." 

"  Yes,"  corroborated  the  youth.  "  She's  been  sick 
a-bed  ever  since  he  was  took  up,  —  apprehended,  ye 
know,"  —  hastening  to  amend  his  speech  with  the  more 
elegant  word  that  occurred  to  him.  "  Naturally  harrow 
ing  to  a  wife's  feelings,  y'  und'stand." 

"  What  a  shame,  to  disgrace  his  family  that  way  !  " 
said  the  elderly  female. 


Fiat   Justitia.  225 

"He  might  at  least  have  had  some  regard  for  his 
wife  !  "  chimed  in  the  girl. 

"  Outrageous  !  "  added  the  smirking  mouth.  "  Take  a 
beautiful  girl  away  from  her  home,  —  creature  of  ex- 
queezit  sensibilities,  ye  know;  genteel  folks,  fust-rate 
tip-top  'ristocratic  s'ciety,  ye  know;  surrounded  by  the 
lap  of  luxury  "  — 

"  I  want  to  know  if  she  was,  poor  thing  !  "  exclaimed 
the  whistler. 

"  Better  believe  !  "  And  a  dingy  hand,  presenting  a 
remarkable  contrast  of  foul  nails  and  showy  rings, 
stroked  a  languid  mustache  that  shaded  the  smirking 
mouth.  "  Outrageous,  I  say,  —  get  a  wife  on  false  pre 
tences  that  way,  and  then  go  to  committing  burglary, 
as  if  expressly  a-puppus  to  overwhelm  her  with 
obliquity  ! " 

"  Tasso  Smith  ! "  cried  a  warning  tongue  in  the 
crowd. 

The  proprietor  of  the  rings  started,  and  looked  all 
around,  with  a  foolish,  apprehensive  stare,  to  see  who  had 
spoken.  It  was  apparently  a  female  voice,  and  it  seemed 
to  come  from  some  mysterious  depths  in  the  crowd. 

"  Is't  re'ly  burglary  now  !  "  exclaimed  the  woman,  to* 
whose  ear  the  word  had  an  appalling  sound. 

"  Burglary  in  th'  secon'  degree,"  the  youth  answered, 
lowering  his  voice,  and  still  glancing  uneasily  around. 
"  'Twould  have  been  burglary  in  the  fust  degree,  if  he'd 
broke  into  the  house  —  entered  the  tenement,  ye  know," 
he  added,  in  more  classic  phrase,  — "  in  the  night.  Per- 


226  Neighbors'1  Wives. 

petrating  the  attempt  in  the  daytime,  that  makes  secon' 
degree." 

"But  I  thought  they  couldn't  prove  just  when  he 
broke  in ;  that's  how  I  understood  it,"  observed  a  rough- 
looking  man,  whose  shaggy  coat  concealed  Eliza. 

"-My  friend,"  —  the  youth,  recovering  his  equanimity, 
spoke  with  a  complacent,  patronizing  air,  as  if  conscious 
of  showing  off  his  attainments  to  an  admiring  audience, 
—  "  My  friend,  you  understood  puffic'ly  correct.  Nobody 
seen  him  break  in,  of  course.  But  it's  mos'  probable  he 
done  it  —  consummated  the  atrocity,  ye  know,"  he  trans 
lated  himself,  —  "  the  afternoon  the  Apjohns  was  away; 
absent  from  the  dormitory,  ye  understand." 

"  Absent  from  the  domicile,  you  mean!  "  sneered  a  lad 
of  fifteen,  regarding  him  with  immense  disgust. 

"Same  thing,"  —  and  the  ringed  and  grimy  paw  was 
passed  once  more  across  the  conceited  mouth.  "  Clock 
being  stopped  at  certain  hour  that  afternoon,  which  was 
effected  mos'  probable,  when  he  took  out  the  key  of  the 
chist  or  put  it  back  ag'in,  —  ye  know,  —  seems  to  indi 
cate  the  time  of  the  operation.  That's  no  consequence, 
though ;  they'll  prove  a  compound  larceny,  safe  enough, 
and  that  covers  the  hull  ground,  y'  tind'stand." 

"His  lawyers  made  a  bad  job,  trying  to  prove  his 
whereabouts  all  that  afternoon,"  observed  the  rough- 


coated  stranger. 


"  Puffic'ly  !  Ye  see,  it  couldn't  be  did.  Lucky  for 
him  a  wife  ain't  permitted  to  testify  aginst  her  hus 
band;  if  he  gets  off,  —  successful  acquittal,  ye  know, — 
it  '11  be  on  that  account." 


Fiat   Justitia.  227 

"  What,  sir  !  "  whizzed  the  imperfect  dental  apparatus 
of  the  girl's  aunt,  "ye  don't  think  she  know'd  of  his 
hookin'  the  money  ?  " 

A  peculiarly  knowing  smile  stirred  the  young  man's 
mustache.  "I  —  ah  —  apprehend  she  knowed  as  much 
about  it  as  anybody.  Ye  see,  she  might  'a'  been  con 
victed,  in  her  own  mind,  of  his  turbitude,  or  else  she 
wouldn't  been  so  puffic'ly  succumbed  by  the  dispensa 
tion  ! "  he  added,  with  that  characteristic  elegance  of 
diction  which  corresponded  well  with  his  jewelry,  being, 
one  may  say,  the  pinchbeck  of  language  displayed  on 
the  unwashed  joints  of  a  vulgar  mind. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  poor  creetur'  lately?  "  inquired 
the  toothless  one. 

"  No,  madam,  I  hain't,  not  very  recent."  The  youth 
drew  himself  up  pompously.  "  Ye  see,  after  that  —  ah, 
despisable  affair  —  I  cut  her  husband's  acquaintance. 
A  gentleman  don't  like  to  compromise  his  repetation,  y' 
und'stand,  by  calling  at  the  house  of  a  thief,  if  he  has 
got  a  charming  woman  for  a  wife." 

"  Tasso  Smith  ! "  called  once  more  the  mysterious, 
warning  voice. 

"  Hello  ! "  said  Pinchbeck,  with  a  gasp,  and  a  sallow 
grin.  "  Who  speaks  ?  Good  joke  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  —  with  a 
forced  laugh. 

"  Somebody's  callin'  Tasso  Smith  !  "  said  the  woman. 
"  Be  you  Tasso  Smith  ?  " 

"  That's  my  —  ah  —  patternimic,"  the  young  man  ac 
knowledged. 


228  Neighbors'  Wives. 

"  Now  I  wan'to  know  !  Huldy  Smith's  boy,  be  ye  ? 
Huldy  Bobbit  that  was  ?  Why,  me  an'  her  was  school- 
gals  together.  Didn't  ye  never  hear  her  tell  of  Marshy 
Munson  ?  " 

"  Can't  say  I  ever  did  ! "  and  the  young  man  lifted 
his  head  superciliously. 

"  Wai,  you  tell  her  how  you  seen  Marshy  Munson  to 
the  trial.  It's  Munson  still,  tell  her.  I'm  a  livin'  now 
to  my  brother's,  'Gustus  Munson's;  this's  his  darter. 
Your  mother  married  a  Smith,  I  heerd,  and  had  a  son 
Tasso;  though  it's  years  sence  I've  seen  her;  but  I  hope 
now  we  shall  visit  back  and  forth  a  little.  Dear  me ! " 
—  the  scraggy-toothed  spinster  interrupted  herself,  re 
garding  Tasso  admiringly,  —  "is  it  possible  Huldy  Bob- 
bit's  got  a  boy  that  tall !  smart  and  good-lookin'  too ;  I 
can  say  that  'thout  flatterin'.  And  to  think  I  should 
meet  you  here,  and  find  out  who  you  be,  and  that 
you  knowed  all  about  the  case  'fore  ever  it  come  to 
trial ! " 

"  1  —  congratulate  myself,"  said  Tasso,  haughtily, 
"  that  I  was  'bout  as  well  posted  as  mos'  folks,  —  gener 
ality  of  individuals,  y'  und'stand." 

"  How  about  the  letter  he  lost  in  Apjohn's  house  ?  " 
inquired  Marshy  Munson's  niece.  "  Was  that  proved 
against  him  ?  " 

"  It  was,  miss,  supposed  to  be,"  smiled  Tasso;  "  and  it's 
one  of  the  mos'  overwhelming  circumstances  in  the  case." 

"And  the  tomatoes,  that  was  hung  onto  Apjohn's 
door  —  wasn't  that  mean  ?  " 


Fiat   yustitia.  229 

"  Mean  ?    I  believe  ye  !  "  said  Tasso,  slightly  wincing. 

"  And  of  course  he  done  it,  you  think  ?  " 

"  Of  course  ?  Nobody  mean  enough  to  —  perpetrate 
such  a  thing,  without  it's  Abel  Dane;  as  anybody  that 
knows  him  "  — 

"  Tasso  Smith,  you  are  a  liar  !  " 

Tasso  turned  yellow  as  his  linen,  and  stopped  short  as 
if  the  little  hand,  instead  of  the  little  tongue,  of  the  con 
cealed  speaker,  had  smitten  him.  From  that  moment,  he 
became  singularly  reserved,  not  venturing  to  open  again 
his  mendacious  mouth.  He  now  turned  his  eyes  stead 
fastly  towards  the  bar;  and  the  tittering  occasioned  by 
his  discomfiture  had  scarcely  ceased,  when  the  court 
came  in. 

"  Hello,  my  little  girl,"  said  the  rough-coated  stranger 
to  Eliza,  "  you  seem  bound  to  git  a  look." 

u  Oh,  sir!  if  I  only  could  ?" 

"  Sho  !  some  friend  of  your'n,  is  he  ?  —  this  Abel 
Dane?" 

"  He  —  is  —  a  dear  friend  —  my  adopted  brother  I  " 
faltered  Eliza,  from  her  anxiously  throbbing  heart. 

' "  Ye  don't  say  !  Here,  I'll  make  a  place  for  you. 
Give  way  a  little  there,  you  square-shouldered  fellers; 
let  this  young  woman  pass  in;  she's  the  man's  sister, — 
Abel  Dane's  sister  ! " 

Although  ashamed  of  being  thus  publicly  announced, 

Eliza  was  glad  of  the   advantage  the  kind,  rough  man 

obtained  for  her;  and  in  a  minute  she  had  passed,  she 

scarcely  knew  how,  the  close  barrier  of  the  crowd,  and 

20 


230  Neighbors'  Wives. 

stood  in  front  of  it,  with  garments  sadly  disordered  by 
the  strain  and  pressure  they  had  sustained. 

Before  her  was  a  railing  as  high  as  her  arms,  and 
within  that  a  bewildering  scene ;  —  the  lawyers  and  priv 
ileged  visitors,  whispering,  writing,  arranging  papers, 
or  getting  their  seats,  —  in  the  midst  of  whom  her  eye 
singled  out  the  well-known  side-head  of  the  man  she 
sought.  He  was  seated,  composedly  awaiting  the  ar 
rival  of  the  jury  with  their  verdict.  He  turned  to  speak 
to  a  friend  by  his  side,  and  then  she  saw  his  features, 
which  were  firm,  but  careworn  and  haggard.  She  dared 
not  move  beyond  the  rail;  but  at  sight  of  that  dear,  suf 
fering  face,  she  flew  to  him  in  spirit,  and  flung  her  arms 
about  him,  and  irrepressible  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks. 
Order  was  soon  secured  in  the  court,  and  from  a  distant 
door  an  official-looking  personage  entered,  bearing  a 
portentous  perpendicular  staff,  and  ushering  in  a  file  of 
twelve  men,  who  silently  took  their  places  upon  seats 
reserved  for  them  beyond  the  bar,  at  the  right-hand  of 
the  judicial  bench.  Eliza  almost  forgot  to  breathe,  and 
leaned  faintly  upon  the  rail  before  her,  as  she  thought 
that  the  fate  of  Abel  lay  in  the  voice  of  these  twelve 
men,  and  that  in  another  instant  she  might  hear  his 
doom  pronounced. 

There  was  a  brief  delay,  she  knew  not  for  what;  then 
the  question  was  asked,  —  had  the  jury  agreed  upon  their 
verdict. 

They  had  agreed.  Low  and  ominous  came  the  re 
sponse  from  the  foreman. 


Fia  t   'Justitia .  231 

Was  the  accused  at  the  bar  guilty  or  not  guilty  ? 

Eliza's  brain  reeled.  She  did  not  know  whether  she 
heard  the  answer,  or  only  a  part  of  it.  She  looked  dizzily 
around.  She  saw  the  excited  faces ;  she  heard  the  whis 
pered  echoes;  then  all  was  chaos  and  darkness  about 
her.  But  she  still  clung  to  the  rail,  and  did  not 
faint. 

"  Told  ye  so  ! "  said  Tasso,  with  a  look  of  malicious 
satisfaction  at  his  new  acquaintances.  "  Yes  ! "  he 
whispered  to  the  tiptoe  listeners  behind  him ;  "  GUILTY  ! 

GUILTY  !  " 

"When  Eliza  recovered  the  mastery  of  her  senses,  she 
saw,  as  in  a  dream,  Abel  standing  up  in  court,  erect  and 
pale;  and  heard  some  one  inquiring  if  he  had  anything 
to  say  why  sentence  should  not  be  passed  upon  him. 

Abel's  voice  was  deep  and  agitated,  as  he  answered,  — 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say,  but  once  more  to  protest 
my  innocence,  and  that  is  idle  now.  I  believe  the  jury 
have  come  honestly  to  their  decision ;  but,  God  knows, 
they  have  condemned  an  innocent  man." 

Silence  followed  these  impressive  words,  broken  only 
by  a  single  cry  of  pain,  —  a  sharp  moan  wrung  from 
Eliza's  very  soul. 

Abel,  after  hesitating  a  moment,  as  if  there  was  more 
he  woiild  have  said,  passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead, 
and  sat  down.  But  he  was  presently  required  to  stand 
up  again,  and  receive  the  sentence  of  the  court. 

"  Oh,  his  poor  old  mother  !  his  poor  little  baby  !  " 
sobbed  Eliza,  audibly. 


232  Neighbors?    Wives. 

Abel  hid  his  face  with  his  hand  for  a  minute,  strug 
gling  with  the  emotions  that  had  well-nigh  mastered 
him,  then  stood  up,  stern  and  calm. 

In  the  midst  of  the  hushed  and  crowded  court-room, 

—  confronting  the  jury  that  had  pronounced  him  guilty, 
and  the  judge  who  was  to  declare  his  sentence,  —  the  focus 
of  a  thousand  eyes  which  well  might  burn  his  cheeks  to 
coals,  or  whiten  them  to  ashes,  —  the  one  absorbing  object 
of  pity,  or  wonder,  or  gloating  satisfaction,  to  all  those 
packed  benches,  and  thronged  windows  and  doorways, 

—  a  spectacle  also,  no  doubt,  to  bands  of  angels,  weeping 
over  the  weakness  of  human  judgments,  or  tenderly 
smiling  with  joy  at  the  divine  wisdom  which  underlies 
them,  and  works  through  them,  and  changes  the  bitter 
ness  of  wrong  into  the  sweetness  of  mercy  at  last,  — 
there,  on  that  wild  December  day,  which  blinded  the  win 
dows  with   snow,  and  darkened  all  the  air  with  storm, 
Abel  Dane,  the  carpenter,  stood  up  to  receive  the  doom 
of  a  felon. 

In  a  slow,  monotonous,  and  dogmatic  speech,  the 
judge  commented  on  the  majesty  of  the  law,  which  had 
been  offended,  and  the  necessity  of  dealing  justice  to  the 
oifender.  RText,  the  enormity  of  Abel's  crime  against 
society  was  duly  made  clear  to  him.  He  was  also  re 
minded  of  the  obligation  he  was  under  to  feel  grateful 
for  the  enlightened  process  of  law  by  which  he  had  been 
convicted,  and  for  the  patience  and  impartiality  with 
which  his  case  had  been  heard.  It  now  remained  to  de 
termine  the  punishment,  which  should  be  at  once  a  just 


Fia  t   Ju  stitia.  233 

retribution  for  his  offence,  and  serve  as  a  solemn  warn 
ing  to  other  wrong-doers. 

Then,  in  the  same  unmoved,  formal,  droning  tone  of 
voice,  the  court  proceeded  to  discharge  its  heavy  re 
sponsibility,  by  pronouncing  judgment. 

This  was  the  judgment,: 

To  serve  a  term  of  FIVE  YEARS,  AT  HARD  LABOR,  IN 

THE  STATE  PRISON. 

This  was  the  doom  of  Abel  Dane. 

It  smote  the  appalled  heart  of  Eliza.  FIVE  YEARS  I 
It  seemed  to  her  that  the  heavens  had  fallen,  and  justice 
had  not  been  done. 

Abel  bowed  his  head,  and  sat  down,  and  the  sentence 
was  irrevocably  recorded  against  his  name.'    He  was 
committed  to  the  charge  of  the  sheriff,  to  be  taken  from\ 
the  court  to  the  jail,  and  thence  to  be  convej^ed  to  the 
place  of  his  long,  weary,  ignominious  confinement. 

He  was  marched  away  by  the  officers.  The  distant  door 
opened  before  him  and  closed  again  behind  him.  It  was 
done.  And  Eliza,  forced  into  something  like  calmness  by 
the  very  intensity  of  her  despair,  or  stunned  by  the  awful- 
ness  of  the  stroke,  or  held  by  a  ghastly  unbelief,  looked 
about  her,  —  saw  the  soulless  visage  of  the  judge  still 
sitting  there ;  the  misty  sea  of  faces  around;  the  windows 
streaming,  as  it  were,  with  tears;  the  vast,  dim,  empty 
space  under  the  dome,  but  nowhere  Abel;  receiving,  in 
that  instant  of  time,  upon  the  tablet  of  her  brain,  a  picture 
of  blurred  desolation,  of  sickening  unreality,  to  haunt  her 
days  thenceforward,  and  to  wake  her  by  night  from  har 
rowing  dreams.  20  * 


234  Neighbors'  Wives. 

She  was  roused  from  that  momentary  palsy  of  the 
soul,  by  the  audience  breaking  up;  —  for  the  show  was 
over,  the  tragedy  ended;  the  strained  chord  of  excited 
interest  had  snapped;  and  the  next  case  on  the  docket 
was  too  tame  to  excite  the  public  appetite  after  such  a 
highly  seasoned  entertainment  a*s  had  just  been  enjoyed. 

The  jury  went  out  and  another  came  in.  And  the  court 
coldly  turned  to  the  next  case.  And  the  lawyers  scrib 
bled  and  quibbled.  And  the  darkening  storm  whirled 
and  whistled  without.  And  the  affairs  of  the  great 
world  went  on,  and  there  was  joy,  and  there  was  laugh 
ter,  just  the  same  now  as  when  Abel  Dane,  the  convict, 
was  a  free  and  happy  man. 


Through  Prison  Bars.  235 


XXVI. 

THROUGH    PRISON-BARS. 

BUT  now  the  heavy  doors  of  the  jail  were  clanging 
behind  him,  and  the  keys  turning  in  the  locks.  He 
was -no  longer  of  the  world. 

Henceforth  solitude,  hopeless  toil,  years  of  coxrod- 
ing  misery,  which  seemed  a  lifetime  to  look  forward 
to,  and  years  of  reflected  infamy  afterwards,  if  he  was 
so  unfortunate  as  to  live  to  be  old, —  a  despised  and 
broken-spirited  old  age;  such  was  the  dismal  vista  of 
the  future. 

There  was  no  escape  now.  The  cold  walls  of  the  jail, 
the  suppressed,  sad  voice  and  compassionating  look  of 
the  sheriff,  as  he  took  leaye  of  him,  the  portentous  click 
and  jingle  of  the  retiring  keys,  the  grated  windows,  and 
the  wild,  white-maned  storm  plunging  by  outside,  as 
if  to  mock  him  with  the  terrors  and  beauty  of  its 
magnificent  freedom, —  all  conspired  to  assure  him  that, 
marvellous  and  past  belief  as  such  a  fate  appeared  to 
him,  it  was  no  dream,  butra  stern,  stony  reality. 

An  hour  ago  there  was  hope;  but  now  there  was  no 
hope.  Then  it  seemed  not  impossible  but  the  bitter  cup 
might  pass  from  him ;  and  the  thought  of  returning  to 


236  Neighbors    Wives. 

his  humble  occupation,  to  his  mother  and  his  child,  to  his 
old  home,  and  the  old  life  of  care  and  trial,  which  did 
not  seem  so  bad  a  life  after  all,  would  thrill  his  heart 
most  tenderly.  But  that  is  denied  him  —  inexorably  I 
The  lot  of  a  felon  is  his. 

To  go  with  inglorious  cropped  hair;  to  work  at  his 
trade  under  a  task-master,  in  a  silent  company  of  con 
victs;  to  be  dressed  like  them  in  the  shameful  prison 
uniform;  to  be  marshalled  in  degrading  mechanical  or 
der  to  the  workshops  in  the  morning,  and  driven  back 
in  a  dull  tramping  row  at  night,  —  himself  one  of  that 
jeering,  grotesque,  melancholy  file,  stamping  with  bi- 
colored  legs,  in  sullen  time  with  the  rest;  crowding  close 
at  the  prison-doors,  with  some  reckless  horse-thief  be 
fore  him,  and  some  muttering  murderer  treading  close 
behind ;  turning  his  head  now  over  his  red  shoulder,  and 
now  over  his  blue  one,  for  a  breath  of  untainted  air ;  to 
take  his  turn  at  the  kitchen  slide,  receiving  his  morsel  of 
black  bread  and  tin  plate  of  mush,  and  carrying  them  to 
his  allotted  cell  in  the  row  of  cells;  his  lonely  supper;  no 
wife,  no  child,  to  comfort  him,  no  friend  dropping  in  of 
an  evening,  no  plans  for  to-morrow,  or  for  next  week, 
or  for  next  year ;  no  human  face  to  cheer  him  ever,  — 
only  the  dreary  face  of  the  chaplain,  the  unsympathizing 
countenances  of  his  keepers,  and  the  morose,  brutal  vis 
ages  of  his  fellow-convicts ;  a  spectacle  to  curious  visit 
ors,  who  come  to  stare  and  make  careless  remarks  while 
he  marches  in  or  out,  or  feeds,  or  cringes  at  his  work, 
forbidden  to  look  up  ;  and  this  life  day  after  day,  and 


Through  Prison  Bars.  237 

week  after  week,  and  month  after  month,  and  year  after 
year;  —  O  merciful  God  !  must  it  be  ? 

Did  the  judge,  who  enunciated  the  sentence  with  busi 
ness-like  precision,  or  the  listeners,  who  heard  it  with 
keen  relish  of  the  tragical,  measure  the  depth  and 
breadth  of  its  fearful  significance;  or  weigh  well  one 
little  grain  of  the  load  of  grief  and  shame  those  few  ea 
sily-spoken  words  heaped  irretrievably  on  the  convict's 
head  ? 

And  Abel  was  innocent;  but  what  if  he  had  been 
guilty  ?  It  seems,  when  we  think  of  it,  a  very  special 
act  of  divine  favor  that  any  man  is  innocent  of  crime. 
The  coil  of  circumstance  has  such  subtile  entangle 
ments;  and  the  glue  of  evil,  wherever  we  move,  is  so 
plentiful  and  adhesive,  and  the  way  to  the  pit  is  so 
often  in  appearance  the  very  path  of  necessity,  and  to 
advance  step  by  step  is  so  easy,  while  to  return  is  so 
difficult;  and  ever  the  illusions  of  sin  are  so  seductive, 
and  the  human  heart  so  weak,  —  how  is  it  any  one  es 
capes  ? 

Guilty  !  innocent !  —  are  these  mere  words  ?  Who  is 
there  that  never  did  a  wrong  act,  or  felt  a  sinful  desire  ? 
And  what  is  the  mighty  difference,  in  God's  sight,  be 
tween  wicked  wishing  and  wicked  doing  ?  or  between 
the  great  and  daring  transgressor,  and  the  small,  weak, 
timid  one  ?  or  between  him  who  is  powerfully  tempted, 
and  sins  accordingly,  and  him  who  is  tempted  not  at  all, 
and  so  never,  as  we  say,  sinned  ?  Man  provides  pun 
ishment  for  a  few;  but  how  about  the  rest,  who  may  be 


238  Neighbors'  Wives. 

equally  deserving  ?  Are  there  no  murderers,  loose  in 
society,  whom  the  law  cannot  touch,  whose  victims 
died,  not  by  bludgeon  and  drug,  perhaps,  yet  by  the 
poison  of  secret  wrong,  and  the  strokes  which  make 
broken  hearts  ?  How  many  robbers,  think  you,  walk 
abroad  with  high  heads,  respectable,  and  defiant  of 
grand  and  petit  jury;  who  have  committed  no  literal 
larceny,  indeed,  nor  positive  act  of  pocket-picking;  but, 
by  more  cautious  practices  in  craft,  have  possessed 
themselves  of  their  neighbors'  goods,  rendering  no 
equivalent  ?  On  the  other  hand,  how  many  compara 
tively  honest  men,  like  Abel  Dane,  have  been  subjected 
to  punishment  and  life-long  dishonor  more  by  the  in 
iquity  of  others  than  their  own  ?  And,  to  pry  closely 
into  the  roots  of  things,  what  precious  right  have  you, 
sir,  or  you,  madam,  to  condemn  your  brother  or  your 
sister  ?  Have  you  thought  of  it,  ye  proud,  who  esteem 
yourselves  better  than  the  f est  ?  And  you,  O  virtuous 
judge  !  have  you  considered  it,  sitting  there  on  your 
cushioned  bench,  and  uttering  judgment,  while  your  less 
fortunate  brother  stands  trembling  in  the  dock  to  be 
doomed  ? 

If  these  be  riddles  to  the  wise,  well  may  they  puzzle 
the  poor  wits  of  honest  Abel  Dane.  Social  order  must 
be  had.  The  time  has  not  come  when  the  prison-house 
can  be  safely  demolished.  The  world  is  not  yet  wise 
and  good  enough  to  put  into  practice  the  sublime  and 
sweet  doctrine  of  love,  which  knows  neither  gallows 
nor  chain.  In  the  mean  while  appearances  and  the  rule 


Through  Prison  Bars.  239 

of  force  have  their  day.  The  outward  semblance  of 
good-citizenship  shall  pass  for  good-citizenship.  The 
gross  transgressor,  who  maintains  but  one  virtue  to  a 
thousand  crimes,  if  that  one  virtue  be  a  hen-like  pru 
dence  hiding  -the  evil  brood  under  its  wings,  shall 
be,  perhaps,  one  of  the  guardians  of  society.  And  the 
man  of  many  unknown  virtues,  and  one  poor  little  crime 
that  betrays  him,  shall  be  delivered  over  to  the  judg 
ment.  What  else  ?  Peace,  loud-mouthed  reformer  ! 
Patience,  ye  seething  brains,  that  have  begun  to  think, 
or  to  think  you  think  !  Charity,  all  I  charity  not  for 
the  criminal  only,  but  for  those,  also,  who  hate  the  crim 
inal  ;  and,  if  they  did  not  help  to  make  him  what  he  is, 
at  least  help  to  keep  him  so.  God  lives ;  and  his  infinite 
providence  enfolds  alike  the  noble  and  the  ignoble,  the 
accuser  and  the  accused ;  and  the  proud  have  their  re 
ward,  and  the  meanest  are  not  forgotten;  and  perfect 
justice  is  perfect  mercy;  and  that  shall  comfort  us. 

But  was  Abel  Dane  so  comforted  ?  The  hour  of  an 
guish  is  not  just  the  time  to  compute  carefully  the  com 
pensations  of  suffering.  No  doubt  truth  shall  triumph 
in  the  long  run ;  and  the  gloss  of  appearances  shall  not 
always  avail;  and  every  wrong  shall  be  made  right  at 
last.  At  last  I  —  but  is  that  a  salve  to  quiet  the  grief 
of  a  present  wound  ? 

Staggering  and  heavy  within  him  was  the  soul  of 
Abel,  as  he  stood  and  looked  around  him  in  the  jail, 
and  tried  to  understand,  to  feel,  to  be  assured  of  him 
self.  A  convict  !  a  jail-bird  !  one  of  the  despised  an! 


240  Neighbors'  Wives. 

outcast  of  the  earth  I  How  was  it  ?  He  had  endeav 
ored  to  prepare  himself  for  this  emergency,  but  some 
how  it  found  him  altogether  unprepared.  He  had  antic 
ipated,  even  if  condemned,  a  light  sentence,  —  not  more 
than  a  year,  at  the  most;  and  he  had  believed  he  could 
endure  so  much.  But  FIVE  YEARS  !  —  the  thought  be 
wildered  him.  He  remembered  how  lately  he  had  said 
in  his  heart  that  it  would  be  easy  to  go  to  prison  for 
another's  sake;  but  now  that  seemed  an  idle  conceit,  a 
flower  of  sentimentalism  that  could  not  stand  the  with 
ering  heat  of  this  terrible  day;  and  the  memory  of  it 
sickened  him. 

He  could  not  help  feeling  that  there  was  some  mistake 
about  the  sentence.  In  his  shaken  state,  he  even  had  a 
dim  hope  that  it  had  been  pronounced  only  to  try  his 
manhood;  or  that  the  judge  would  think  better  of  it,  and 
order  him  to  be  released.  Yes  !  there  were  the  rattling 
keys  again,  —  the  sheriff  was  coming  to  set  him  free. 

Abel  indulged  in  these  miserable  fancies,  as  some 
times  men,  in  the  most  utter  hopelessness,  will  play  with 
the  phantoms  of  hope,  —  as  the  child  at  its  mother's 
funeral  will  gaze  on  the  pallid  face;  and  though  it  knows 
what  death  is,  and  that  this  is  death,  thinks  it  impossi 
ble  but  that  the  closed  eyes  shall  open  again  and  the 
cold  lips  smile  once  more. 

But  the  sound  of  the  keys  and  of  opening  locks  was 
no  delusion.  And  what  was  this  that  flew  like  a  bird, 
yet  with  a  human  cry  and  sob,  to  the  grated  door,  and 
looked  in  upon  him,  clinging  to  the  iron  bars  ? 


Through  Prison  Bars.  241 

"Abel!   OAbel!" 

He  had  sat  down,  without  knowing  it,  upon  a  wooden 
bench.  His  face  was  buried  in  his  hands.  But  at  the 
call,  he  lifted  his  head,  and  then  got  up,  moving  slowly 
to  the  door. 

"  Eliza  !  "  he  said,  in  a  hollow  voice,  trying  to  smile. 

He  reached  her  his  hand.  She  seized  it  and  kissed  it 
through  the  bars. 

"  Why,  Eliza  —  Eliza,"  —  he  spoke  in  the  same  hol 
low,  broken  voice,  but  tenderly  and  soothingly,  much 
as  in  old  times,  — "  don't  cry,  child  !  there,  there  ! 
don't  cry." 

"  O  Abel  !   I  never  thought  it  would  be  so  1  " 

"  Neither  did  I,  my  girl.  But  so  it  is.  1  try  to  be 
lieve  there  is  a  God  !  "  he  said,  and  paused,  —  the  black 
ness  of  atheism  rising  like  a  cloud  in  his  soul,  shedding 
a  sullen  gloom,  and  darting  defiant  lightnings.  He 
stood,  with  clenched  teeth,  grim  and  dark. 

"  O  brother  !  don't !  "  sobbed  Eliza.  "  There  is  a 
God  ! " 

"I  say,  I  try  to  believe  it,"  returned  Abel;  "and  I 
suppose  this  is  all  right,  if  we  could  only  see  it  so.  But 
there  is  a  black  devil  in  my  heart.  He  says  to  me  what 
Job's  wife  said  to  Job,  — '  Curse  God,  and  die  ! '  " 

Eliza  could  only  wring  his  hand  and  weep. 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  me  ?  "  he  asked.    Haven't  you 

begun  to  think  of  me  as  the  world  will  think  ?    I  am 

going  into  a  living  tomb;  to  be  buried  five  years;  to 

rot  in  the  memories  of  men,  and  be  eaten  by  worms. 

21 


242  Neighbors'  Wives. 

There  are  worms  that  eat  the  body,  and  there  are  worms 
that  consume  heart  and  hope  and  good  name.  In  a  little 
time  my  friends  will  think  of  me  with  loathing,  —  that 
is  the  worst  to  bear." 

"  Never  !  never  !  "  Eliza  interrupted.  "  You  must 
not  imagine  such  a  thing.  I  would  die  for  you  now, 
Abel  !  And  do  you  think  I  will  ever  forget  you,  or 
distrust  you,  or  anything  but  love  you  ?  " 

"  You  are  a  good  girl.  I  know  you  are  sincere,  and 
mean  all  you  say.  But  I  see  !  "  —  And  the  prisoner 
sighed  with  unutterable  sadness,  and  shook  his  head. 
"  In  a  little  while  you  will  be  a  wife,  and  happy,  and  full 
of  interest  for  your  husband  and  household  and  little 
ones.  And  you  will  have  new  acquaintances,  and  a  bright 
world  all  open  to  you,  and  occupation,  and  diversion ;  and 
what  will  I  be  to  you  then  ?  " 

"  What  no  one  else  will  ever  be  !  "  she  answered,  with 
strange  energy.  "  No  one  can  ever  fill  your  place,  —  not 
even  my  husband.  Abel,  you  never  knew  how  I  loved 
you,  — I  never  told  you,  —but  I  will  tell  you  now;  and, 
oh,  if  my  love  could  only  give  you  strength  and  com 
fort  !  If  I  could  give  up  all  my  happiness,  which  you 
speak  of,  and  save  3rou,  how  gladly  I  would  do  it  !  " 

"  What !  your  husband,  your  future,  your  friends,  — 
all,  Eliza?" 

"  All  I  I  would  give  all  to  you,  and  feel  that  I  was 
more  blessed  by  the  sacrifice.  Then  don't  say  I  will 
ever  forget  you.  Don't  think  I  will  in  spirit  forsake 
you  one  moment  in  all  those  dark  coming  years.  Never 


Through  Prison  Bars.  243 

imagine,  though  all  should  neglect  you,  that  I  shall  for 
an  instant  neglect  you  in  my  wishes  and  in  my  prayers." 

"  Eliza  !  angel ! "  murmured  the  prisoner,  thrilling 
from  head  to  foot,  and  regarding  her  with  a  look  all 
love  and  tears;  "if  we  had  only  known  each  other, 
I  should  not  now  be  here,  —  I  should  not  now  be  the 
son  of  a  worse  than  childless  mother  or  the  father  of  a 
worse  than  fatherless  child,  or  the  husband  of  —  of  any 
body  but  you,  darling  Eliza  ! "  he  said,  with  ineffable 
tenderness,  folding  her  hand  between  both  his,  as  if  it 
were  the  most  precious  thing  to  him  in  all  the  world. 

"  We  do  not  know,"  said  Eliza  with  a  strange  abstrac 
tion,  her  face  full  of  pain  and  vague  yearning,  her  eyes 
full  of  sorrow  and  tears,  looking,  not  at  him,  but,  tremu 
lously,  far  away.  She  seemed  neither  to  be  offended  nor 
much  surprised  by  what  he  said ;  but  to  accept  it  as  sim 
ple  truth  that  might  be  spoken  and  heard  without  shame, 
now  that  prison-bars  and  the  gulf  of  years  were  be 
tween  them.  "  God  only  knows,"  she  added.  "  And 
his  ways  are  best,  Abel.  Oh,  believe  that !  Oh,  let  us 
never  doubt  that,  whatever  comes  !  " 

"  Pray  for  me  ! "  said  the  prisoner,  his  whole  man 
hood  shaken.  "  I  am  afraid  I  have  lost  the  power  to 
pray  for  myself.  I  tried  to,  as  I  sat  on  the  bench  there, 
but  couldn't.  My  thoughts  were  like  lead.  Frozen 
clods  weighed  me  down.  And  I  said,  '  I  will  pray  no 
more,  for  God  will  not  hear.'  But  you  awaken  something 
in  me  that  I  thought  was  dead.  For  your  sake,  for 
your  love's  sake,  Eliza,  I  would  not  be  lost.  For  your 


244  Neighbors'  Wives. 

sake,  for  your  love's  sake,  I  would  live  through  the 
dreary  years  before  me,  and  keep  my  faith  in  God,  and 
in  man,  and  in  justice.  Pray;  and  save  me  from  that 
scepticism  that  is  ten  times  worse  than  death  !  " 

Eliza  did  not  answer.  She  was  weeping  softly  and 
unrestrainedly  now,  holding  his  hand  pressed  close 
against  her  cheek.  Her  head  was  bowed  against  the 
iron  bars,  through  which,  reaching,  he  laid  his  other 
hand  soothingly  upon  it. 

"  Don't  cry  ! "  he  said  again,  with  wondrous  depth 
and  sweetness  of  love  in  his  tones ;  "  I  am  better  now 
and  stronger.  You  have  given  me  strength.  Bless 
you,  sister,  —  dearer  than  any  sister  !  Go  to  your  hus 
band.  Be  happy,  dearest.  I  want  you  to  be  very  happy. 
It  will  lighten  my  heavy  loneliness,  thinking  of  you  and 
your  happiness.  From  this  day  I  am  but  as  a  dead 
man.  But  you  are  still  in  the  world,  and  you  do  right 
to  enjoy  it." 

"  How  can  I  ever  ?  "  burst  forth  the  heart-broken 
girl.  "  O  Abel,  how  can  you  say  so  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  speaking  bitterly,  but  in  all  soberness  and 
truth.  It  will  solace  my  solitude  to  remember  you,  and 
know  you  are  happy.  And,  though  I  am  dead,  I  shall 
hope  for  the  resurrection,  in  this  world  or  the  next, 
when  we  shall  meet  again.  Go  now,  darling.  I  want 
you  to  carry  the  news  to  my  mother  —  and  my  wife. 
My  horse  is  at  the  tavern;  you  can  drive  him  home. 
Make  haste;  for  I  don't  want  mother  to  hear  the  news 
from  anybody  but  you.  You  will  know  how  to  be 


Through  Prison  Bars.  245 

gentle  and  tender  with  her.  Heaven-  comfort  her  poor 
old  heart ! " 

"How  can  I  tell  her?  Abel,  it  will  kill  her;  she 
loves  you  so,  and  you  are  all  she  has  ! " 

"Not  all,  —  she  has  you  now.  Stay  a  little  while 
with  her,  Eliza,  if  you  can.  It  will  not  be  long  that  she 
will  need  you." 

"  I  will  never  leave  her  while  she  lives,  —  be  sure  of 
that !  "  said  Eliza. 

"  Then  I  am  content.  I  have  settled  up  my  affairs, 
so  that  I  think  the  little  remnant  of  my  property  will 
last  out  her  days.  As  for  my  wife,  —  she  has  friends 
she  can  go  to,  if  necessary.  But  Ebby,  —  my  boy,  — 
what  will  become  of  him  ?  " 

"  If  his  own  mother  cannot  provide  for  him,  I  will 
take  him,  and  be  thankful  for  the  privilege.  I  will  be 
his  mother  ;  and  I  will  love  him  for  your  sake,  Abel." 

"  Will  you  ?  Then  my  mind  is  at  .rest.  He  may 
call  you  mother;  but,  darling,  do  not  forget,  nor  let  him 
forget,  that  I  am  his  father.  I  could  not  bear  to  have 
him  learn  to  call  any  one  else  father,  —  even  so  good 
a  man  as  your  husband.  And,  Eliza,  you  will  bring 
him  up  to  think  of  me  with  affection,  and  without 
shame  for  the  name  he  bears.  Forgive  me  for  saying 
it;  I  know  you  will  be  true  to  us  both.  There,  wipe 
your  tears,  child.  You  must  go." 

"  Go  !  and  not  see  you  again  ?  Oh,  I  can't,"  she 
sobbed,  "  I  can't  say  good-by  !  " 

"I  am  told  I  shall  not  be  removed  till  to-morrow," 
21* 


246  Neighbors'  Wives. 

said  Abel;  "  so  any  one  that  wishes  to  visit  me,  can 
do  so  this  afternoon.  If  Faustina  wants  to  come,  maybe 
you  will  come  with  her.  And  bring  Ebby.  I  would 
like  to  kiss  him  for  the  last  time,  and  have  one  last  look 
to  remember  him  by;  he  will  be  changed,  he  will  be  an 
other  child,  five  years  from  now.  You  must  bring  him  to 
me  in  prison,  at  least  once  a  year,  Eliza.  I  can't  bear 
the  thought  of  his  growing  beyond  my  remembrance." 

With  incoherent  words,  Eliza  promised.  And  now, 
consoled  by  the  thought  of  returning  to  him  again  in 
the  afternoon,  she  found  strength  to  take  leave. 

"  I  hope  mother  will  not  think  of  coming  with  you," 
said  Abel.  "  She  couldn't  stand  it,  and  it  would  be  too 
much  for  me.  By  all  means,  persuade  her  to  stay  at 
home.  Yet "  —  a  spasm  twitched  the  muscle  of  his 
mouth  —  "perhaps  I  shall  never  see  her  again.  But 
it  will  be  better,  —  yes,  it  will  be  better  for  her  not  to 
come.  The  storm  is  dreadful."  And  he  looked  up  at 
the  gusts  of  snow  driving  by  the  jail- windows. 

"  Kiss  me,  brother,"  whispered  Eliza. 

Between  the  bars  of  the  grated  door  their  lips  met. 
Their  hands  clung  together  in  a  last  embrace.  Neither 
spoke.  Then  Eliza,  hiding  her  face  in  her  veil,  disap 
peared  in  the  dark  passage.  At  the  end  of  it  was  an 
other  door,  which  had  been  locked  behind  her  as  she 
entered.  She  gave  the  necessary  signal;  it  was  soon 
opened  again,  and  closed  again;  and  Abel  was  alone 
and  she  was  gone. 


The  Convict's  Beautiful  Wife.       247 


XXVII. 

THE  CONVICT'S  BEAUTIFUL  WIFE. 

MEANWHILE  Faustina  waited,  in  torments  of  anxiety, 
to  learn  the  result  of  the  trial,  —  Abel's  fate  and  her  own. 
Now  she  tossed  and  groaned  upon  the  bed.  Now  she 
went  to  the  window,  and  looked  out  upon  the  tempest 
uous  snow-storm,  straining  her  eyes  to  see,  through  the 
white,  driving  cloud,  Abel  or  Eliza,  or  at  least  some 
friendly  neighbor  coming  with  the  news.  But  no  Abel 
appeared ;  and  nevermore  would  she  behold,  in  storm  or 
shine,  that  goodly  form  of  manhood  returning  home  to 
her  as  she  had  seen  it  countless  times  and  cared  not,  in 
the  by-gone,  wasted  years. 

Sigh,  wretched  wife  1  Wring  your  passionate,  white 
hands,  O  woman  fair  to  see  !  Weep;  blind  your  eyes 
with  hot,  impatient  tears,  as  you  gaze  !  He  is  nowhere 
in  the  storm.  He  is  not  just  beyond  the  corner  of  the 
common,  where  you  could  see  him  but  for  the  dim  vor 
tex  of  snow,  as  you  sometimes  fancy.  He  will  never 
come  to  you  again,  he  will  never  smile  kindly  upon  you 
again,  at  noon  or  evening,  coming  from  his  work,  in  all 
this  weary  world.  Toss  then  upon  your  bed,  and  groan, 
thinking  of  what  has  been  lost,  and  fearing  what  is  to 
come. 


248  Neighbors    Wives. 

For  she  was  tortured  also  with  fears.  Up  to  the  last  she 
could  not  believe  that  Abel  would  really  sacrifice  himself 
for  her.  If  conviction  became  certain,  then  surely  he 
would  save  himself  by  giving  her  up.  It  was  for  his 
interest  to  preserve  her  good  name,  if  possible  to  do  so 
and  at  the  same  time  avoid  suffering  the  penalty  of  the 
law  in  her  place.  But  more  magnanimous  conduct  she 
could  not  understand.  Each  day  of  the  trial,  therefore, 
and  now  on  this  third  day  especially,  she  trembled  with 
dread  of  exposure.  And  when  she  looked  for  her  hus 
band,  she  more  than  half-expected  to  be  frightened  with 
the  sight  of  an  officer  sent  to  summon  her  before  the 
awful  court. 

* 

But  nobody  came.  She  could  not  have  even  the  mis 
erable  satisfaction  of  knowing  the  \vorst.  And  there 
was  no  one  to  sympathize  with  her,  and  listen  to  her 
conjectures  and  complaints,  and  help  her  waste  the  lone 
ly  hours  of  waiting,  except  Melissa.  She  made  the 
most  of  Melissa,  which  indeed  was  not  much.  Now 
she  called  her  to  her  bedside,  and  clung  to  her  desperate 
ly,  and  confessed  to  her,  and  questioned  her;  promised 
extravagant  favors  if  she  remained  true  to  her,  and 
threatened  all  the  pains  of  death  and  hell  if  ever  she  be 
trayed  her  secret.  Then  she  would  send  her  to  the 
windows  to  look,  or  to  the  outer  door  to  listen,  to  know 
if  anybody  was  coming,  —  or  at  least  to  form  some 
opinion  whether  anybody  would  come  or  not. 

"  "What  do  you  think  ?  "  she  asked  once  when  the  girl 
had  been  absent  some  minutes  from  the  room,  and  re- 


The  Convict's  Beautiful  Wife.        249 

turned  to  ii  —  as  appeared  to  Faustina  —  with  the  same 
slow  discouraging  step  as  usual.  "  Is  he  coming  ?  Has 
he  got  clear  ?  Oh,  dear  I  dear !  Melissa,  why  don't  you 
speak  ? " 

But  it  was  not  Melissa  who  mournfully  drew  near  the 
head  of  the  bed,  and  stood  there,  unseen  by  Faustina, 
regarding  her  with  speechless  grief. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  die  !  I  shall  have  another  dreadful  fit,  I 
know  I  shall.  Melissa,  if  you  would  save  my  life,  why 
don't  you  tell  me  again  you  think  he  is  acquitted,  and 
will  be  here  soon  ?  I  want  you  to  keep  saying  it. 
That's  all  the  consolation  I  have.  And  he  wouldn't  be 
tray  me,  would  he  ?  Do  you  think  he  would  ?  " 

No  answer  from  the  figure  at  the  bed-head.  But  now 
wonder  began  to  mingle  with  the  heavy  sorrow  of  the 
eyes  that  watched  the  writhing  woman. 

"  He  promised  me  so  faithfully  !  But  if  he  should  not 
get  clear  !  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?  What  would  you  do 
in  my  case,  Melissa  ?  I  wish  I  had  run  away  a  month 
ago  !  "What  a  fool  I  was  !  I'd  have  done  it  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  Tasso.  He  told  me  not  to  be  afraid,  but  to  stay, 
and  never  care  what  happened  to  my  husband,  —  as  if  a 
body  could  !  —  as  if  I  hadn't  before  my  eyes  every  min 
ute  what  may  happen  to  myself.  Oh,  dear  !  " 

And  Faustina,  restless,  rose  up  in  bed,  and  pushed 
back  her  hair,  moaning  as  she  twisted  it  away  and  threw 
it  over  her  shoulder,  and  looked  with  burning  languor 
and  despair  around  her,  as  if  in  search  of  some  object 
of  hope  on  which  to  cast  her  weary  heart;  but  saw  in- 


250  Neighbors'  Wives. 

stead,  with  a  start  of  alarm,  the  silent  figure  behind  her 
pillow. 

"  Eliza  ! "  she  scarcely  articulated,  staring  pallidly. 
"  Where  —  where  is  Melissa  ?  " 

"  She  is  gone  to  put  the  horse  in  the  barn,"  replied 
Eliza. 

"  The  horse  I  What  horse  ?  "  Faustina  hardly  knew 
what  she  was  saying,  so  great  was  her  trepidation,  think 
ing  of  what  she  had  already  said,  and  Eliza  —  not  Me 
lissa  —  had  heard.  "  How  did  you  come  ?  I  —  I  — 
what  did  I  say  ?  " 

Eliza  advanced  to  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  sat  down 
upon  it.  The  two  looked  at  each  other,  —  one  with  a 
countenance  full  of  anguish  and  pity,  the  other  with 
guilty,  affrighted  eyes. 

"  You  know  best  what  you  were  saying,  and  what  you 
meant  by  it,"  Eliza  answered.  "  I  was  thinking  of  what 
I  have  come  to  say,  and  what  you  must  prepare  yourself 
to  hear." 

"  Abel  ?  "  Faustina  whispered,  "  did  he  —  has  he 
come  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Dane,"  Eliza  said,  with  indescribable  repug 
nance  in  her  heart,  when  she  felt  that  she  ought  to  show  all 
sympathy  and  pity  to  the  distressed  creature  before  her, 
"your  husband  cannot  come  now;  if  you  wish  to  see 
him  you  must  go  where  he  is." 

Faustina  did  not  speak;  but,  putting  both  hands  to 
her  head,  slid  them  into  her  hair,  and  clenched  them  thus 
entangled  over  her  neck,  with  an  aspect  of  abject  fear. 


The  Convict's  Beautiful  Wife.       251 

"  I  have  come  for  you,  if  you  wish  to  visit  him.  You 
must  get  ready,  while  I  go  and  break  the  news  to 
mother." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "• 

"  In  jail.     To-morrow  he  will  be  taken  to  prison." 

"  To  prison  ?  O  heavens !  You  are  dreaming,  trying 
to  frighten  me  !  " 

"  It  is  only  too  true,"  said  Eliza.  "  I  heard  his  sen 
tence,"  —  clasping  her  hand  on  her  heart  at  the  remem 
brance. 

Faustina  was  not  so  full  of  astonishment  and  grief  for 
her  husband,  as  not  to  reflect,  with  a  secret,  selfish  hope, 
that  her  own  guilt  had  probably  remained  concealed. 
She  remembered  also,  in  the  midst  of  her  consternation, 
that  she  had  a  part  to  play. 

"  To  prison,  did  you  say  ?  What  prison  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  For  how  long  ?  " 

"  To  the  State  prison.    For  five  years,"  replied  Eliza. 

"State  prison! — my  husband  I — Five  years!"  — 
And  the  miserable  woman  wrung  her  hair,  and  thrust 
it  into  her  mouth,  biting  it.  How  much  of  this  seeming, 
too,  was  real  and  unaffected,  and  how  much  disguised  or 
assumed,  it  would  be  hard  to  say.  And  whether  it 
was  chiefly  grief  for  Abel,  or  remorse  for  her  own  mis 
conduct,  or  only  a  selfish  sorrow  and  alarm,  who  shall 
judge  ?  But  that  fear  and  dismay  were  upon  her,  there 
could  be  no  doubt. 

And  why  did  not  Eliza  endeavor  to  soothe  and  en 
courage  her  V  She  believed  it  her  duty,  and  accounted  it 


252  Neighbors?  Wives. 

a  privilege,  to  give  aid  and  counsel  wherever  they  were 
needed.  But,  when  she  would  have  spoken  sympathiz 
ing  words  to  this  unhappy  being,  her  heart  contracted 
and  her  tongue  refused  to  utter.  It  was  not  her  own 
affliction,  it  was  not  jealousy,  or  vindictive  hatred,  be 
cause  of  the  irremediable  wrong  she  knew  this  woman 
had  done  to  her  and  to  Abel,  which  made  her  shrink 
away  and  close  her  lips ;  but  rather  a  sense  of  falsehood, 
and  of  a  deeper  wrong  concealed,  which  her  sensitive 
nature  scented  like  a  corruption  in  the  very  air  Faustina 
breathed.  She  arose  from  the  bed. 

"  Will  you  be  ready  ?  "  she  asked,  going.  "  We  are 
to  take  Ebby  with  us." 

"  Oh,  I  can't !  "  cried  Faustina.  "  Such  a  storm  !  — 
Besides,  I  am  sick.  How  can  I  go  ?  "  She  threw  her 
self  upon  her  face.  To  confront  her  husband  in  jail;  to 
be  present,  knowing  what  he  suffered,  and  was  doomed 
still  to  suffer,  for  her, —  and  she  wickedly  permitting; 
to  listen  to  his  reproaches,  or,  if  he  uttered  none,  to  wit 
ness  the  uncomplaining  trouble  his  soul  was  in  for  her 
sake,  more  cutting  than  any  reproach;  to  hear  his  trem 
ulous  words  of  leave-taking,  to  look  into  his  face,  and  to 
part  for  so  long,  —  oh,  it  seemed  impossible  to  go 
through  all  this  !  Nevertheless,  she  reflected  that  it 
would  be  far  the  safest  policy  to  visit  him ;  to  go,  and 
show  her  love;  yes,  and  carry  Ebby  with  her,  to  touch 
his  heart;  repeat  her  professions  of  fidelity,  and  make 
him  promise  again,  and  once  for  all,  never  to  betray  her. 


The   Convict's  Beautiful  Wife.        253 

"  Tell  me  what  to  do  ! "  she  cried.    "  It  shall  be  as  you 
say.    Did  he  send  for  me  ?  " 

She  raised  her  head  as  she  spoke,  and  looked  for  Eliza. 
But  Eliza  was  not  there.  She  was  at  another  bedside 
now,  holding  in  her  arms  the  almost  dying  form  of  the 
convict's  stricken  mother;  trying  in  vain  to  impart  to 
her  a  little  consolation  out  of  her  own  scanty  store. 

Then  Faustina,  left  alone,  resolved  to  rise  and  dress 
herself  whilst  she  was  deciding  in  her  mind  what  to  do. 
She  found  a  sort  of  distraction  and  relief  in  the  occupa 
tion.  And  though  she  vowed  incessantly  to  herself  that 
she  could  not  go,  and  that  she  would  not  go,  she  con 
tinued  to  put  her  apparel  on,  even  to  her  mantle  and 
furs;  so  that,  when  Eliza  sent  for  her,  lo,  she  was 
ready.  And  though  she  now,  almost  frantically,  in 
formed  Melissa  that  she  could  not  and  that  she  would 
not,  nevertheless,  as  if  a  spell  had  been  upon  her  which 
she  was  powerless  to  resist,  she  went  trembling  and 
sighing  to  the  outer  door,  where  the  wagon  stood,  and 
got  into  it,  and  took  Ebby  with  her  under  the  buf 
falo-skin  ;  and  did  not  faint  dead  away,  as  she  had  de 
termined  to  do  in  Eliza's  sight,  so  that  she  might  be  left 
behind,  but,  irresolutely  holding  that  strategy  in  reserve 
until  it  was  too  late,  rode  through  the  storm  of  wind  and 
snow,  and  through  the  wilder  storm  of  her  own  thoughts, 
to  the  centre  of  the  town,  and  found  herself  at  last 
alighting  afc  the  jail-door,  as  weak  and  helpless  as  Ebby 
himself,  in  Eliza's  governing  hands. 
22 


254  Neighbors'  Wives. 


XXVIII. 

THE  CONVICT'S  CHRISTIAN  NEIGHBORS. 

FROM  the  window  of  his  shop  John  Apjohn  had  seen 
Abel  Dane's  wagon  arrive  and  depart  again.  For  the 
cooper  did  not  attend  court  that  morning.  The  two 
previous  days,  when  he  was  required  to  be  on  the  spot, 
had  been  enough  for  him,  yea,  too  much.  To  swear 
the  solemn  oath;  to  stand  up,  in  the  presence  of  judge 
and  jury  and  spectators,  and  bear  witness  against  his 
neighbor,  whose  eyes  were  upon  him;  to  tell,  in  terror 
of  perjuring  himself,  the  story  of  the  tomatoes,  and  to 
hear  the  tittering,  had  been  the  most  fearful  ordeal  of 
his  life.  How  he  was  gored  by  ruthless  forensic  horns, 
and  ferociously  trampled  and  tossed  as  if  the  truth  had 
been  his  life-blood,  to  be  worried  out  of  him  in  this  mad- 
bull  fashion ;  how  he  fainted,  and  was  carried  out  to  be 
revived,  and  then  brought  back  into  the  arena,  to  be 
whirled  again  in  the  air  and  trodden  again  in  the  dust; 
and  how  he  was  at  last  pitched  carelessly  out  of 
the  arena,  a  used  up  man,  covered  with  sweat  and 
flushes,  while  Prudence  took  the  stand,  and  made  sport 
for  the  Philistines,  —  all  this  he  remembered  sufficiently 


The  Convict's  Christian  Neighbors.    255 

well  to  be  made  sick  ever  after  by  the  sight  of  a  court 
house. 

But  John's  was  no  merely  selfish  woe.  He  had  been 
in  a  measure  diverted  from  his  own  shame  by  his  consci 
entious  concern  for  Abel.  With  the  vindictive  feelings, 
which  animated  his  worthy  wife,  he  had  no  sympathy; 
and  this  third  morning,  he  waited  and  watched  from  his 
shop-window,  afflicted  with  pangs  of  conscience,  and  un 
able  to  work  until  he  should  learn  that  his  neighbor  had 
been  acquitted.  After  seeing  the  wagon  come  and  go, 
his  restlessness  grew  intense.  Remain  in  his  shop  he 
could  not.  A  bold  resolution  inspired  him,  and  putting 
on  his  coat,  and  turning  up  the  collar  about  his  ears,  he 
issued  forth.  Mrs.  Apjohn  called  to  him  as  he  passed 
the  house;  but  the  said  collar,  and  the  storm  that 
whistled  about  it,  prevented  her  being  heard. 

"  Where  on  airth  can  he  be  goin'  ?  Why,  he's  stop- 
pin*  into  Abel  Dane's  gate,  sure's  the  world.  The  man's 
crazy  I  "  said  Prudence. 

When  the  cooper  returned,  after  a  short  absence,  she 
flew  to  the  door  to  meet  him. 

"  Wai  sad,  John  Apjohn  !  What  have  you  done  ?  " 
she  cried,  grasping  him  as  if  he  had  been  a  little  boy, 
and  dragging  him  into  the  house.  "  Give  an  account  of 
yourself,  sir !  " 

u  What  have  we  done?"  iterated  the  cooper;  "what 
have  we  been  and  done,  Prudy  ?  To  be  sure,  to  be 
sure  I  " 

"  We  ?  what  do  you  mean  by  we  ?  "     She  helped  him 


256  Neighbors'  Wives. 

shake  the  snow  from  his  coat,  not  very  gently.     "  What 
have  we  done,  say  !  " 

"  I've  seen  Abel's  mother.  She's  a  sight  to  make  any 
man  sick  of  life,  —  most  of  all,  one  that's  been  helpin'  to 
heap  her  troubles  on  to  her.  For  Abel,  Prudy,  Abel  — 
he's  sent  to  State's  prison  for  five  year' !  for  five  year', 
Prudy  !  And  it's  all  our  doin's;  it's  all  our  doin's 
from  the  very  fust ! "  And  as  he  uttered  this  speech, 
the  agitated  and  remorseful  John,  having  previously  un 
buttoned  his  coat,  began  to  button  it  up  again  excited 
ly,  with  the  collar  about  his  ears. 

The  moment  of  triumph  had  arrived  for  good  Mrs. 
Apjohn.  But,  alas  !  where  was  the  satisfaction  ?  She 
looked  somehow  as  if  smitten  by  ill  tidings.  She  had 
achieved  a  signal  victory  over  her  supposed  enemy,  and 
she  Was  not  glad.  All  the  imps  that  had  been  goading 
her  on,  and  whispering  in  her  soul  night  and  day  how 
good  the  revenge  would  taste,  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
deserted  and  left  her  to  bite  barren  ashes.  She  sat 
down  on  the  wood-box;  and  it  was  some  seconds  before 
she  spoke. 

"  Wai,  I  don't  know  as  it's  my  fault  now.  I'm  as 
sorry  for  ol'  Mis'  Dane  as  anybody,  and  for  her  little 
gran'child,  —  he's  a  re'l  pooty  little  boy,  and  I  pity  him. 
And  nobody  can  say't  ever  I  hated  Fustiny  bad  enough 
to  want  her  husband  sent  for  five  year'  —  that  seems 
mos'  too  bad,  I  allow  !  "  Prudy's  voice  quavered,  and 
her  countenance  betrayed  trouble.  "  And  I'd  no  idee  of 
his  gittin'  so  long  a  sentence  !  had  you,  John  ?  " 


The  Convict's  Christian  Neighbors.    257 

John  had  been  busy  tying  his  red  silk  in  a  broad  fold, 
over  his  upturned  coat-collar,  around  his  nose  and  ears, 
so  that  he  now  stood  muffled  to  the  eyes;  and  the  voice 
of  him  seemed  to  issue  from  a  tomb. 

"  I'm  a  goin'  for  to  see  him,  Prudy." 

"To  see  — who  ?" 

"Abel.  I'm  a  goin'  with  ol'  Mis'  Dane.  'Lizy  and 
Faustiny  and  the  boy  had  gone  off;  and  she  was  in  a 
dreffle  state,  sayin'  they'd  insisted  on  her  stayin'  to 
hum ;  but  she  know'd  she  never'd  see  Abel  agi'n  in  the 
world,  if  she  didn't  see  him  to-day,  and  she  didn't  keer 
for  the  storm,  nor  for  sickness,  nor  for  nothin' ;  but  go 
she  must  and  would ;  and  if  I'd  harness  up  and  carry 
her  over,  she'd  be  obliged.  And  I'm  a  goin',  Prudy  I  " 
With  which  announcement,  he  closed  up  the  aperture 
which  he  had  opened  between  his  handkerchief  and  his 
nose  to  make  a  passage  for  the  words,  and,  putting  on 
his  hat,  tightened  the  muffler  about  his  ears  as  if  deter 
mined  neither  to  say  nor  hear  more  on  the  subject. 

"  Now,  John  !  "  began  Prudence  disconcerted,  "  I  don't 
know  'bout  your  goin'  off  on  any  sech  wild-goose  chase  ! 
Why  didn't  you  ask  my  advice  ?  Old  Mis'  Dane  ain't 
fit  to  stir  out  of  the  house,  in  the  best  weather,  'cordin' 
to  all  accounts;  and  to  start  off  in  sech  a  storm"  — 

"  I'm  a  goin',  Prudy,"  said  the  voice  from  the  tomb. 
And  John's  hand  was  on  the  door-latch. 

"  No  you  ain't  goin',  neither  !  "  exclaimed  Prudence, 
astonished  by  this  act  of  rebellion.  "  Jest  stop  a  min 
ute,  can't  you,  and  hear  to  reason  ?  You  do  beat  all 
22* 


258  Neighbors'  Wives. 

the  obstinate,  headstrong  critters  !  Come  !  "  She  put  her 
hand  quickly  on  her  knee,  and  got  upon  her  feet  with  all 
possible  dispatch,  and  launched  herself  towards  the  door, 
with  arm  extended  to  seize  him.  But  too  late.  Ob 
stinate  or  not,  John  Apjohn  meant  to  have  his  own 
way  this  time.  Headstrong  or  not,  for  once  in  his  life  he 
determined  to  defy  her  conjugal  authority,  and  take  the 
risks.  If  she  was  the  more  muscular  of  the  two,  he  was 
the  more  nimble.  She  was  ponderous ;  but  he  was  fleet. 
Prudence  saw  that  she  had  no  chance;  and  to  stand  in 
the  door,  and  shout,  against  the  indriving  tempest,  for 
him  to  return,  she  soon  perceived  to  be  idle.  So  she 
retired  into  the  house,  baffled,  and  inspired  with  a  cer 
tain  respect  for  .her  husband  which  she  never  felt  be 
fore. 

He  was  going  to  take  Mrs.  Dane  over  to  the  jail,  — 
that  was  settled.  "What  should  she  do  in  the  mean 
time  ?  Suffer  it  to  be  said  that  she  was  less  neighborly 
than  her  husband  ?  And  leave  him  alone  to  be  wrought 
upon  by  the  scenes  he  was  to  witness  ?  She  seemed 
boiling  with  trouble  for  a  minute;  then  she,  too,  formed 
a  novel  resolve.  Off  went  her  old  frock,  and  on  went  her 
second-best  gown,  in  a  twinkling.  The  hooks  and  eyes 
flew  together  with  amazing  rapidity,  considering  the 
capaciousness  of  the  charms  enclosed.  And  so  great 
was  her  industry,  that,  by  the  time  John  had  obtained 
a  pony  at  a  stable  near  by,  and  harnessed  him,  Prudence 
had  locked  the  house,  and  stood  ankle-deep  in  the  snow, 
with  her  bonnet  and  cloak  on,  ready  to  accompany  him. 


The  Convicfs  Christian  Neighbors.    259 

At  sight  of  her,  John  was  alarmed.  But  she  said 
kindly,  — 

"  Put  in  a  board,  John,  for  you  to  set  on.  Me  and 
Mis'  Dane  I  guess  '11  about  fill  up  the  seat." 

And  John,  without  a  word,  put  in  a  board. 


260  Neighbors'    Wives. 


XXIX. 

IN  JAIL.     LEAVE-TAKING. 

ELIZA  warmed  her  numbed  hands  in  the  vestibule  of 
the  jail,  while  Faustina,  with  Ebby  in  her  arms,  fol 
lowed  the  keeper. 

He  opened  the  first  heavy  door,  and,  after  usher 
ing  her  in,  clanged  it  together  and  locked  it  again. 
Then  they  were  ready  to  advance  to  the  second  door. 
The  ring  of  the  iron,  the  formality  and  preparation, 
the  dim  light  in  the  passage,  the  sound  of  the  keep 
er's  feet  on  the  echoing  stone  floor,  added  to  the 
thought  of  so  soon  meeting  her  husband,  filled  her  limbs 
with  trembling,  and  her  soul  with  almost  superstitious 
dread.  She  could  scarcely  support  the  burden  of  her 
child  upon  her  fainting  heart.  As  if  to  enhance  her 
trouble,  Ebby  began  to  cry.  She  stood  waiting  for  the 
jailer  to  precede  her.  "White  and  terrified,  she  obeyed 
his  summons  to  follow.  Before  her  was  the  grated, 
door,  through  the  bars  of  which  he  called  Abel  to  ap 
proach  ;  and  she  heard  his  slow  footsteps  coming  along 
the  floor  of  the  hollow  cell,  —  tramp,  tramp,  —  while 
each  moment  there  was  danger  that  the  swoon  she  had 


In   Jail.     Leave-Taking.  261 

had  in  contemplation  so  long,  and  kept  in  reserve,  would 
take  vengeance  for  being  trifled  with,  and  master  her  in 
good  earnest. 

But  the  grated  door  was  opened  also ;  and  Ebby,  as 
he  slipped  from  his  mother's  breast,  was  caught  in  the 
arms  of  his  father.  And  Faustina,  bowing  her  face 
upon  Abel's  shoulder,  clung  and  wept  there  until  her 
limbs  fairly  failed  beneath  her,  and  she  sank  down  help 
lessly  upon  the  jail-floor. 

Half-kneeling  and  half-sitting,  she  sank  and  bent  her 
fair  head,  from  which  the  bonnet  had  fallen,  and  covered 
her  fairer  face,  —  a  rather  graceful  and  exceedingly  pa 
thetic  figure;  the  sight  of  whom,  together  with  the  pris 
oner  standing  by,  hugging  the  child,  and  saturating  his 
little  curls  with  big,  manly  tears,  did  mightily  wrench 
that  unofficial  part  of  the  jailer's  nature,  called  a  heart; 
for  the  jailer  was  the  sheriff  also.  It  was  excellent  Mr. 
Wilkins,  whom  we  remember;  the  same  who  went  to 
arrest  Abel,  and  was  sorry  to  see  him  come  out  of  the 
house  with  Ebby  in  his  arms,  that  moonlight  night  in 
autumn.  He  was  not  one  of  the  brutal,  relentless  turn 
keys  you  read  about  in  romances,  but  a  man.  And 
now,  retiring  with  the  keys,  having  locked  the  duplicate 
doors,  and  wiped  the  duplicate  tears  that  surprised  him, 
he  went  and  sat  down  in  the  vestibule,  and  talked  feel 
ingly  to  Eliza,  and  told  her  how  grievous  a  thing  it  was 
for  a  young  wife,  so  beautiful  and  affectionate,  to  see 
her  convict  husband  in  jail,  and  to  take  leave  of  him. 
And  he  brushed  his  misty  eyes  again,  —  good,  honest 


262  Neighbors'  Wives. 

gentleman,  —  and  no  doubt  thought  he  was  informing 
her  of  something  new;  for  Eliza  did  not  find  occasion 
to  wipe  her  eyes,  but  sat  in  a  sort  of  dreamy  stupor,  and 
warmed  her  benumbed  hands,  and  tried  to  warm  her 
benumbed  heart  by  the  fire. 

Abel  assisted  his  wife  to  arise,  and  led  her,  reluctant 
and  sobbing,  to  a  bench.  There  they  sat  down,  silent 
both,  a  long  time,  —  he  with  Ebby  in  his  arms,  Faustina 
weeping  still. 

"  Papa,"  said  the  child,  frowning  with  dislike  at  the 
walls,  as  he  glanced  furtively  around,  "  go  home,  papa  ! 
go!" 

Abel  heaved  a  tremendous  sigh. 

"  Home,  my  poor  boy  ?  Papa  can't  go  home  any 
more,"  he  said,  in  a  convulsed  voice. 

The  baby  frown  contracted  to  a  scowl  of  pain  and  terror. 

"Home,  papa !  home  I "  he  entreated.    "Ebby  'f  aid." 

"  Hush,  my  boy,"  answered  Abel,  soothingly,  stroking 
the  child's  hair,  and  kissing  again  and  again  his  beauti 
ful  white  forehead.  "  Papa  will  go  home  some  time,  — 
yes,  some  time,  darling  !  Ebby  must  love  mamma,  and 
mamma  must  take  care  of  Ebby  now." 

"  O  Abel,"  uttered  Faustina,  with  wild  and  stifling 
grief,  "  I  can't  have  it  so  !  I  never  believed  it  could  be  ! 
It  is  too  hard  !  too  unjust !  " 

"Hard  and  unjust,  truly,"  said  Abel;  "but  it  must 
be  borne.  Be  calm,  now,  Faustina;  for  I  have  many 
things  to  say  to  you,  and  the  time  is  short." 

But  the  distressed  one  seemed  resolved  not  to  be  calm. 


In   Jail.     Leave-Taking.  263 

She  threw  her  face  down  despairingly  upon  his  lap,  ut 
tering  moan  after  moan.  At  length  she  lifted  her  head, 
and,  with  wet,  flashing  eyes,  whispered  passionately,  — 

"  Abel,  I  am  determined !  You  shall  never  go  to 
prison  !  If  either  must  go,  I  will  I  I'll  see  the  judge, 
and  tell  him  everything.  I'd  have  done  it  before;  but 
I  thought  you  would  be  acquitted.  You  know  —  you 
know  I  can't  let  you  suffer  in  my  place,  —  for  my  fault," 
—  looking  around  to  see  that  no  one  was  listening. 
And  she  made  a  motion  towards  rising,  —  thinking,  no 
doubt,  that  Abel,  the  devoted,  would  detain  her. 

But  he  didn't.  Whether  he  suspected  the  sincerity 
of  her  declaration,  or  was  indeed  willing  that  she  should 
assume  the  responsibility  and  odium  of  her  own  act,  he 
sat  seemingly  content  to  let  her  do  as  she  pleased. 
That  was  a  more  effective  damper  to  her  resolution 
than  any  opposition  could  have  been.  She  had  no  more 
than  half-risen  when  she  fell  again  upon  his  breast. 
He  regarded  her  with  a  dreary  smile  and  head-shake, 
but  said  nothing. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  she  inquired,  embracing  him. 

"Ask  your  conscience,  not  me,"  said  Abel.  "I've 
as  much  as  I  can  do  to  give  counsel  to  my  own  heart. 
These  are  bitter  days,  Faustina.  I  shall  try  to  do  my 
duty,  and  I  pray  God  you  may  do  yours." 

"  What  is  my  duty  ?  Tell  me,  and  I'll  do  it,  if  it  is 
to  kill  myself ! "  vowed  the  fair  one. 

"It  is  not  to  kill  yourself,  but  to  live,  —  if  not  for 
yourself  nor  for  me,  for  our  child  here."  said  Abel. 


264  Neighbors'  Wives. 

"I  will !  I  will !"  Faustina  eagerly  cried;  for  truly 
she  had  no  very  lively  wish  to  die;  and  to  promise  that 
she  would  devote  herself  to  Ebby  out  of  prison,  whilst 
Abel  devoted  himself  to  her  in  it,  struck  her  as  an  easy 
and  reasonable  compromise. 

"  As  for  your  acknowledging  to  the  world  the  error 
for  which  I  suffer,  I  have  no  advice  to  give,"  he  went 
on.  "  At  first,  I  should  have  honored  you,  had  you 
been  so  brave  and  true.  Such  nobleness  would  have 
more  than  purchased  my  pardon.  But  I  have  given 
you  my  pardon  without  it.  And  I  don't  think  now 
that  you  have  any  heart  to  redeem  me  from  infamy  and 
imprisonment  by  criminating  yourself.  "Well,  I  am 
satisfied.  I  have  given  you  my  word  not  to  expose 
you;  and  I  shall  keep  my  word.  In  return  I  ask  only 
one  favor,  —  and  that  not  for  my  sake,  but  for  your 
own  and  our  child's.  Remember  me  in  prison.  Think 
of  the  long  days  and  long  nights  of  those  terrible  and 
solitary  years.  And  atone,  Faustina  !  before  God,  atone 
for  the  wrong  you  have  done,  by  becoming  a  true 
woman  and  mother  !  " 

She  only  wailed  in  low,  disconsolate  tones.  And  he 
continued  :  — 

"  So  this  awful  calamity  may  be  made  a  blessing  to 
us  all.  For  I  shall  not  regret  it,  if,  five  years  from  now, 
I  see  you  the  woman  you  may  be,  Faustina  !  Oh,  put 
away  falsehood  and  frivolity  now  !  Conquer  that  rest 
lessness,  that  hankering  for  excitement,  which  argues  a 
mind  uncentred  in  itself,  and  unblessed  by  duty.  Let 


In   Jail.     Leave-Taking.  265 

your  tender  care  of  our  child  occupy  you  now.  It  will 
be  occupation  enough;  it  will  be  amusement  enough. 
For  what  other  amusement  can  you  have  while  I  am 
serving  out  my  sentence?  Oh,  deepen  your  heart;  deepen 
your  heart  !  "  he  entreated  her.  "  It  is  shallow,  Faus 
tina;  even  here,  and  now,  it  is  shallow  and  vain  and 
full  of  pretence.  I  say  it  not  unkindly,  but  pityingly 
and  in  sorrow." 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  her  head;  and  for  the  moment 
something  of  his  own  overmastering  earnestness  seemed 
to  pass  into  her. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  pity  me  !  "  she  said.  "  Be  sorry  for  me  ! 
I  can't  help  being  as  I  am,  —  I  would  help  it  if  I  could. 
But  I  will  be  better;  I  will  try,  oh,  so  hard  !  " 

"  I  think  you  will  try,"  said  Abel. 

"Every  day,  every  night,  I  will  remember  you;  and 
I  will  not  be  vain  any  more.  I  will  not  be  idle  and 
proud  any  more.  How  can  I  be  proud  now  ?  " 

"  Poor  child  !  poor  child  ! "  said  Abel,  very  heavy- 
hearted,  but  full  of  the  tenderness  of  mercy.  "  God 
help  you  !  Pray  to  HIM.  Oh,  be  faithful  and  sincere  ! 
Again,  I  entreat  you  !  don't  forget  me;  and  love,  oh, 
love  and  cherish  this  our  darling  boy  !  " 

Ebby  cried  again,  shrinking  from  his  mother,  and 
nestling  in  Abel's  bosom. 

Vehemently,  then,  Faustina  pledged  herself  to  do  all 
he  required  of  her.  She  would  avoid  unprofitable  asso 
ciates.  She  would  do  everything  he  could  wish.  A  crop 
of  fair  promises,  profuse  and  instantaneous  as  fungi, — 
23 


266  Neighbors'  Wives. 

and  alas,  equally  unsubstantial,  —  whitened  over  the 
rottenness  of  her  heart.  And  once  more  Abel  almost 
believed  in  her,  and  almost  hoped. 

"  And  Abel  !  "  she  said  so  softly  and  sadly  and  fondly, 
that  it  was  impossible  for  the  strong,  tender  man  not  to 
be  touched, —  "  I  want  you  to  say  one  thing.  Only  one 
thing,  dearest  !  I  can't  be  strong,  I  can't  hope,  I  can't 
even  live  without  it !  " 

K  Speak,  and  I  will  say  all  I  can,"  replied  Abel. 

*'  You  know,"  murmured  the  sorrowful  one,  —  resum 
ing  more  and  more  of  her  old  winsome  ways,  which  be 
came  marvellously  her  depressed  and  tearful  state, — 
"  you  know,  Abel,  you  haven't  been  to  me  what  you  were 
before  "  —  (with  a  shudder).  "  You  have  forgiven  me; 
and  you  have  been  kind,  —  too  kind.  But  the  dreadful 
separation  !  Oh,  if  I  have  nothing  better  to  look  forward 
to,  I  had  better  die  now.  If  I  am  never  to  have  your 
confidence  and  affection  again,  if  you  are  not  to  be  my 
husband  again,  but  only  as  a  friend,  a  father,  so  distant, 
so  cold,  —  oh  !  what  have  I  to  live  for  ?  " 

Abel  kept  silent  a  moment,  mightily  shaken  by  this 
appeal.  He  thought  of  Eliza,  —  a  wife.  He  recalled 
his  first  hopeful  and  fresh  passion  for  this  erring  daugh 
ter  of  Eve,  — 

"  His  life  and  sole  delight 
Now  at  his  feet,  submissive,  in  distress." 

And  the  wreck  of  himself  thrown  back  upon  the  world, 
broken,  despised,  after  five  years  of  shame  and  insult  to 


In   Jail.     Leave-Taking.  267 

his  manhood,  he  well  enough  foresaw.  Who  would 
love  him,  who  would  comfort  him  then  ?  She  kissed 
his  hand;  she  pleaded.  Oh,  would  he  not  give  her  one 
word  of  hope  ? 

"  I  will !  I  will  !  "  said  Abel^  with  quivering  lips. 
"Faustina,  be  assured.  In  the  sight  of  Heaven,  now, 
we  will  plight  our  vows,  —  not  idly,  as  when  we  plighted 
them  for  our  first,  false  marriage;  but  this  second  mar 
riage  shall  be  solemn  and  true.  It  is  a  long  engage 
ment, —  five  gloomy,  gloomy  years;  but  the  probation 
will  be  blessed  to  us,  if  we  are  equal  to  it.  And,  hear 
me  now,  —  if,  when  I  come  again  into  the  light  and  air 
of  liberty,  I  find  you  faithful  to  your  promises,  a  true 
woman  and  mother,  then  I  will  be  indeed  your  husband, 
and  give  you  more  love  and  confidence  than  you  ever 
had  or  asked." 

With  a  cry  of  joy  and  gratitude  Faustina  clasped 
him,  and  entered  into  this  strange  second  engagement 
with  plenteous  vows. 

Then  Abel  spoke  to  her  of  his  worldly  affairs,  and 
finally  came  to  the  subject  which  he  had  reserved  for 
the  last,  because  what  he  had  to  say  on  that  he  wished 
especially  to  be  remembered  and  esteemed  sacred, — 
her  duty  to  his  mother. 

But  hardly  had  he  commenced  his  earnest  charges 
when,  greatly  to  his  amazement  and  alarm,  Mr.  Sheriff 
Wilkins  reappeared,  jingling  keys  arid  opening  doors, 
followed  by  Eliza  and  excellent  Mrs.  Apjohn,  who  sup 
ported  between  them  the  feeble,  tottering  form  of  old 


268  Neighbors'  Wives. 

Mrs.  Dane.  Hat  in  hand  and  awe-stricken,  the  bald 
little  cooper  walked  humbly  in  the  rear. 

Abel,  at  sight  of  his  mother,  set  Ebby  hastily  down 
and  rose  to  his  feet.  He  extended  his  arms,  and,  with  a 
cry,  she  fell  forward  upon  his  neck.  Eliza  supported 
her  still,  and  helped  to  place  her  gently  on  the  bench; 
whilst  Prudence  found  her  handkerchief  and  wiped  her 
red  nose,  and  the  honest  man,  her  husband,  hid  his  face 
behind  his  hat. 

"Come,  John  !"  said  Prudence,  turning  away;  "this 
ain't  no  place  for  us.  We've  done  our  duty,  and  showed 
our  good  will;  and  now  le's  leave." 

But,  lo  !  the  door  was  locked,  and  soft-hearted  Sheriff 
Wilkins  had  retired.  And  John,  strangling  behind  his 
hat,  gave  no  heed  to  his  good  wife's  suggestion.  And 
now  Abel,  emerging,  as  it  were,  from  the  sea  and  tem 
pest  of  his  grief,  lifted  his  head,  and  addressed  the  Ap- 
jolm  pair. 

"  No,  don't  go  !  I  have  something  to  say  to  you. 
Neighbor  Apjohn,  I  have  to  thank  you  for  your  kind 
ness.  You  have  not  persecuted  me.  You  have  not  will 
ingly  borne  witness  against  me.  And  you  have  done  a 
neighborly  act  in  bringing  my  mother  here  to  see  me; 
though,  Heaven  knows,  I  hoped  she  would  not  come. 
Still,  I  thank  you;  I  thank  you  for  your  good  will  from 
the  bottom  of  my  heart." 

But  the  cooper  did  not  seem  to  hear.  He  stood  where 
he  had  stood  from  the  first,  stifling  behind  his  hat. 
Prudence  changed  from  purple-red  to  sallow-pale,  and 


In   yail.     Leave-Taking.  269 

looked  with  an  embarrassed,  restless  expression  about 
her,  and  coughed,  and  blew  her  nose,  not  knowing  what 
else  to  do. 

Abel  sat  with  his  arms  about  his  mother,  endeav 
oring  to  solace  and  soothe  her.  But  she,  heart-broken, 
could  do  nothing  but  weep  helplessly,  and  choke  with  her 
own  tears,  —  a  piteous  spectacle,  —  she  was  so  old  and 
feeble,  and  loved  her  son  with  such  entire  and  dependent 
affection,  and  had  always  been  so  proud  of  him,  and  was 
left  so  desolate  now. 

"  If  you  had  died,  my  son  ! "  she  broke  forth  inco 
herently,  "  it  would  not  have  been  so  hard.  I  shall  die 
soon,  and  we  might  hope  to  meet  again.  But  this  !  — 
Oh,  I  can't  be  reconciled  to  it !  Heaven  forgive  me, 
but  I  can't !  " 

It  was  singular  that  sorrow  seemed  to  have  swept 
away  the  old  obstruction  in  her  speech,  and  that  her 
words  flowed  now  with  her  tears. 

Eliza  could  not  endure  the  scene ;  but,  turning  to  the 
iron-grated  door,  she  put  her  face  between  the  bars, 
and  sobbed  alone.  And  she  was  guiltless  of  any  wrong 
towards  Abel:  what,  then,  must  have  been  her  pangs 
had  she  felt  upon  her  conscience  the  burden  which  Mrs. 
Apjohn  was  trying  to  carry  off  so  stoutly,  or  that  which 
Faustina  was  laboring  to  conceal  ?  As  for  the  latter, 
she  occupied  the  time  in  crying,  and  so  played  her  part; 
whilst  Prudence  pinched  her  lips  together, -and  used  her 
handkerchief,  and  tossed  her  chin,  and  so  played  hers. 
23* 


270  Neighbors'  Wives. 


XXX. 

THE  OLD  LADY  TAKES  FINAL  LEAVE. 

JEAE  mother,"  said  Abel,  "  it  is  not  so  bad  as 
it  might  be.  Though  convicted  and  sentenced, 
still  I  am  innocent ;  and  that  ought  to  comfort 
us.  Whatever  others  may  believe,  we  have  that 
knowledge,  and  that  comfort." 

"  Poor  comfort  !  "  replied  his  mother,  convulsively. 
"  The  innocent  suffer,  and  the  wicked  go  unpunished. 
The  wrong  is  too  great  to  endure.  I  have  no  malice,"  — 
she  went  on,  after  a  paroxysm  of  silent  anguish,  —  "I 
never  cursed  anybody  in  my  life  ;  but  I  do  pray  that 
them  that's  done  this  deed,  and  made  you  the  scape 
goat  of  their  sin  and  spite,  I  pray  they  may  feel  the 
evil  they  have  done  recoil  upon  their  own  heads.  I 
may  not  live  to  see  it ;  but  I  humbly  pray  it  may 
be  so." 

This  was  uttered  with  an  energy  which  the  mild  and 
benevolent  old  lady  rarely  manifested  ;  then  she  re 
lapsed  again  into  unconstrained  grief.  Faustina  still 
kept  masked  ;  but  Mrs.  Apjohn  winced. 

"  Wai,  Mis'  Dane,"  she  began,  "  I  'spose  you  mean 
that  for  a  hit  at  me  and  my  husband  here  "  — 


The  Old  Lady  takes  Final  Leave.     271 

"  Not  your  husband  !  not  John  !  "  —  the  old  lady  in 
terrupted  her,  —  "I believe  he's  as  harmless  as  this  child 
here." 

At  which  allusion  to  himself,  Master  Ebby,  who  had 
long  been  looking  on,  in  wonder  and  terror  and  pity,  to 
see  the  grief  of  them  all,  and  especially  the  grief  of  his 
good  old  grandmother,  in  that  strange,  ugly  place,  set 
up  a  scream.  Eliza  came  and  took  him.  John  Apjohn, 
meanwhile,  touched  by  Mrs.  Dane's  testimony  in  his 
favor,  might  have  been  seen  strangling  harder  than  ever 
behind  his  hat. 

"  Come,  come,  mother,"  said  Abel,  smoothing  her  thin, 
gray  hair  with  his  troubled  hands,  as  he  strove  to  pacify 
her;  "  we  will  blame  nobody;  we  will  bear  all  patiently, 
and  blame  nobody." 

"  Yes,  I  would,  now  !  "  said  Mrs.  Apjohn,  flushed,  her 
lips  violently  compressing  and  relaxing,  and  her  entire 
frame  (which  is  saying  a  good  deal)  trembling  with  her 
emotion.  "  You  may  blame  me ;  I'm  perfectly  willin'. 
And  I  don't  mean  to  say  but  what  I'm  desarvin'  of 
some  blame,  but  not  all.  I  jest  as  much  believed  Abel 
hung  them  tomatuses  on  to  my  door,  and  stole  my  money, 
as  that  my  name  is  Prudence  Apjohn;  and  I  hain't  seen 
no  good  reason  yit  for  changin'  my  mind.  And  I  con 
sider  I  had  a  right  to  feel  hurt,  and  make  a  complaint 
'fore  a  justice,  under  the  circumstances.  But  as  for 
wishin'  Abel  Dane  to  go  to  State's  prison  for  five  year', 
my  husband  here  he  knows  I  never  wished  any  sech 
thing;  and  I'm  as  sorry  for't  as  anybody."  So  saying 


272  Neighbors'  Wives. 

the  worthy  woman  dropped  some  penitent  water  from 
her  eyes,  —  without  appearing  to  know  it,  however,  for, 
instead  of  using  her  handkerchief,  now  there  was  really 
need  of  it,  she  bore  up  like  a  good  ship  against-the  storm, 
carrying  her  head  high. 

"  "Well,  well  !  the  Lord  knows  !  the  Lord  knows  !  " 
murmured  old  Mrs.  Dane.  "  He  knows  many  a  secret 
that's  hid  from  our  eyes.  And  the  day  of  reckoning  will 
come  for  us  all  soon.  I  bear  no  malice;  I  bear  no  mal 
ice,"  she  repeated.  "You  was  kind  to  come  over  here 
with  me;  though  I  don't  suppose  you'd  have  come'if't 
hadn't  been  for  John.  I  had  always  generally  found 
you  a  kind  neighbor  enough  till  this  quarrel.  You  got 
a  terrible  quirk  into  your  head  then,  which  I  never  could 
account  for;  though  it  was  nat'ral  enough,  I  presume. 
But  that  you  may  know  how  you  have  misjudged  my 
son,  let  me  tell  you  this,  that  he  never  mentioned,  even 
to  me,  about  your  taking  the  tomatoes  from  our  garden 
till  after  he  was  arrested." 

"  As  for  the  tomatoes,"  spoke  up  Faustina,  seized  by 
one  of  her  unreasonable  impulses,  "  you  have  been  a 
fool,  Mrs.  Apjohn  I  It  was  not  my  husband  who  hung 
them  on  to  your  door.  It  was  "  — 

She  had  commenced  speaking  under  the  influence  of  a 
wild  feeling  that  the  misunderstanding  about  that  un 
happy  retaliatory  trick  of  Tasso's  was  the  origin  of  all 
this  trouble,  which  might  even  now  be  remedied  by 
declaring  the  truth.  But  having  spoken  thus  far,  a 
fear  that  she  was  saying  something  indiscreet  caused 


The  Old  Lady  takes  Final  Leave.     273 

her  to  hesitate.  Abel  had  started  with  surprise ;  and 
the  suspicion  that  alarmed  him  had  entered  Mrs.  Ap- 
john's  mind  also. 

"  It  was  you,  then  !  Own  up  now  !  "  cried  Prudence. 
"  You  can't  deny  it  !  It's  too  late  !  you've  half-con 
fessed  it ! " 

That  decided  Faustina  to  avow  the  truth. 

"It  wasn't  me,  nor  my  husband.  But  I'll  tell  you 
who  it  was ;  it  was  TASSO  SMITH." 

Prudence  was  struck  dumb. 

"Do  you  know  what  you  say  ?  "  demanded  Abel. 

"Yes,  I  do;  for  he  told  me." 

"  And  how  did  he  know  tomatoes  would  insult  Mrs. 
Apjohn  ?  " 

"I  —  I  suppose  I  —  told  him  !  "  confessed  Faustina, 
perceiving  now  what  a  rash  thing  she  had  done.  "  But 
I  —  I  had  forgotten  it." 

Abel  breathed  thick  and  hard,  restraining  himself,  as 
he  looked  upon  her  and  listened  to  these  words. 

"  And  why  on  airth,"  burst  forth  Prudence,  with  all 
her  power  of  astonishment  and  indignation,  "  didn't  you 
never  tell  it  was  Tasso,  and  so  .save  all  this  trouble  to  all 
on  us  ?  " 

Poor  Faustina  scarcely  remembered  why  she  didn't. 
Ah,  yes  !  it  was  because  she  feared  Tasso  would  betray 
her,  if  she  did  !  And  here  she  was  implicating  him,  and 
laying  herself  open  to  his  revenge  1  —  ever  as  foolish  as 
she  was  false.  But  she  would  see  him  and  excuse  her 
self  to  him,  she  thought.  And  now  a  convenient  lie 


274  Neighbors'  Wives. 

suggested  itself  as  an  answer  to  Mrs.  Apjohn's  reasona 
ble  inquiry.  "  Because,"  said  she,  "  I  never  knew  it 
myself;  Tasso  never  told  me  till  —  long  after.  I  met 
him  the  other  day  in  the  street,  and  he  was  very 
sorry,  and  begged  of  me  not  to  tell.  Abel  was  in 
dicted  then,  and  I  knew  nothing  could  prevent  his 
having  a  trial." 

Abel  groaned.  "  But  you  should  have  told  me,  Faus 
tina  !  Why  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  want  you  to  know  I  had  seen  Tasso.  I 
didn't  mean  to  see  him,  —  it  was  an  accident,  —  but  you 
dislike  him  so,  I  thought  you  would  be  offended." 

Faustina  possessed  a  decided  talent  for  mendacity; 
by  the  exercise  of  which  she  was  now  in  a  fair  way  to 
repair  her  recent  indiscretion.  There  was  such  a  var 
nish  of  vraisemUance  on  these  lies,  that  all  were  de 
ceived  by  them. 

"  O  Tasso  Smith  !  Tasso  Smith  !  "  muttered  Prudence, 
quivering  with  rage. 

Abel  groaned  again.  "  You  see,  my  friends,  you  had 
truly  no  reason  to  seek  revenge  against  me." 

"  And  some  day,  Mrs.  Apjohn,"  cried  old  Mrs.  Dane, 
"  some  day,  you  will  know  that  my  son  was  as  innocent 
of  stealing  your  money  as  of  contriving  that  trick  with 
the  tomatoes.  I  shan't  envy  you  your  conscience  then  I 
I  shan't  envy  you  your  conscience  then  !  " 

Poor  Prudence,  confused,  convinced,  pricked  to  the 
heart,  knew  not  which  way  to  turn  or  what  to  say.  At 
this  juncture,  however,  there  occurred  a  circumstance 


The  Old  Lady  takes  Final  Leave.     275 

which  gave  her  something  to  do.  Cooper  John,  de 
fending  himself  from  observation  behind  his  hat,  and  at 
the  same  time  shutting  out  from  his  eyes  the  spectacle 
of  the  convict's  interview  with  his  family;  strangling 
more  and  more;  and  leaning  latterly  against  the  wall 
for  faintness,  as  he  listened  to  the  last  stunning  revela 
tion;  the  sensitive  and  conscientious  little  man,  over 
whelmed  at  length  by  a  cumulative  sense  of  error 
and  fatality,  as  by  a  slowly-gathered  tremendous  wave, 
grew  dizzy  under  it,  saw  all  things  color  of  dim  purple 
a  moment,  and  was  carried  off  his  legs.  A  cry  and  a 
tumbling  fall  announced  his  catastrophe. 

"Prudy,  P-r-u — "  he  weakly  gasped,  and  measured 
his  length  along  the  jail  floor. 

The  swoon,  which  Faustina  had  kept  by  her  so  long, 
had  deserted,  and  gone  over  to  Mr.  Apjohn.  And  a 
very  mortal-seeming  swoon  it  was.  Pallid,  breathless, 
and  apparently  pulseless  and  bloodless,  lay  the  limp, 
insensible  cooper,  — his  tuftless  crown  having  struck 
the  pavement  with  a  concussion  of  itself  almost  sufficient 
to  rive  the  rind  of  life  round  that  "  distracted  globe." 

Prudence  picked  him  up,  getting  down  with  no  little 
difficulty  to  perform  that  office.  But  his  lifeless  hands 
fell  from  him,  and  his  head  rolled  this  way  and  that,  as 
she  endeavored  to  set  him  up  and  hold  him  in  position 
on  her  knee  and  arm.  Meanwhile,  Abel  seized  his 
pitcher  (the  prisoner's  solitary  pitcher),  and  besprinkled 
the  white  face  with  its  contents.  All  in  vain.  The  last 
tick  of  life's  timepiece  seemed  over  in  that  still  breast. 


276  Neighbors'   Wives. 

"  O  John  I  John  !  John  !  "  cried  Prudence,  wildly, 
"  don't  die  !  —  Somebody  run  for  a  doctor  !  —  Oh,  dear  I 
to  be  locked  up  in  jail  at  sech  a  time,  and  my  husband 
dyin' ! "  And  she  screamed  for  help,  not  perceiving 
that  Abel  was  doing  all  in  his  power  to  summon  assist 
ance.  "  That's  right,  'Lizy,  —  rub  him  !  Blow  in  his 
face  I  Does  he  breathe  ?  " 

No;  John  did  not  breathe,  and  there  was  no  lively 
prospect  that  he  would  ever  breathe  again.  Observ 
ing  which,  all  the  latent  affection  and  regret  in  Mrs. 
Apjohn's  large,  blunt  nature  was  aroused. 

"  Oh,  I've  been  a  wicked  woman  !  and  this  is  to  pun 
ish  me  !  I  never  desarved  so  good  a  husband;  for  he  was 
the  bestest  that  ever  was  !  Do  you  hear  me,  John  ? 
Squeeze  my  hand,  John,  if  3^011  do  !  " 

But  John  did  not  squeeze  her  hand.  However,  Eliza 
now  declared  that  he  exhibited  signs  of  returning  con 
sciousness. 

"  Oh,  bless  him  !  bless  him  !  if  he  will  only  live  ! " 
cried  Prudence,  hoping  fondly  for  a  reprieve  from  what 
seemed  certain  widowhood.  "  I  never'll  be  ha'sh  with 
him  agin!  I'll  listen  to  his  advice  always,  —  which  if 
I'd  done  it  in  this  affair  of  Abel's,  we  wouldn't  none  of 
us  be  here  now  !  Comin'  to,  ain't  you,  John  ?  Don't 
ye  know  me,  John  ?  Oh,  the  blessedest  man  !  Give 
me  some  sign,  can't  ye  ?  " 

The  "  blessedest  man  "  had  been  laid  upon  his  back, 
with  Abel's  coat  for  a  pillow.  And  now,  anxiously  and 


The  Old  Lady  takes  Final  Leave.     277 

tenderly,  broad-bosomed  Prudence  bent  over  him,  look 
ing  for  "  some  sign." 

u  If  you  love  me,  John,  spit  in  my  face  ! "  she  entreat 
ed  him. 

John  did  not  grant  this  expressive  token  of  endear 
ment.  But  he  moved  his  mouth,  uttered  a  faint  groan, 
and  opened  his  eyes.  About  this  time  the  jailer  ap 
peared;  some  spirits  were  quickly  brought  and  adminis 
tered;  and  the  cooper  was  soon  able  to  rub  his  contused 
scalp,  stare  about  him,  and  spit  in  anybody's  face  that 
might  request  that  precious  favor. 

"  I've  saved  him  !  I've  saved  my  man  ! "  exclaimed 
Prudence.  "  And  O  Mis'  Dane  1 "  she  continued,  in  the 
fulness  of  her  heart,  "  I'd  save  your  son  for  you  if  I 
could  !  I've  done  wrong,  and  I  regret  it,  and  shall  regret 
it  the  longest  day  I  live.  Oh,  that  Tasso  Smith  !  that 
Tasso  Smith  !  Whuther  you  took  the  money  or  not, 
Abel,  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  keer ;  for  we're  all  on  us 
liable  to  be  tempted,"  —  as  that  virtuous  woman  knew 
from  experience.  "  Fustiny  hain't  used  me  well,  and 
she  knows  it;  but  I'm  sorry  I've  had  a  spite  agin 
her.  And  as  for  you,  Abel  Dane,  I've  always  sot 
by  you  from  a  boy,  and  my  husband  here,  he  knows  "  — 

What  the  sad,  gaping,  half-stupefied  cooper  knew  did 
not  appear,  for  the  good  wife's  speech  was  lost  in  inward 
convulsion ;  the  snow-mountains  of  her  breast  (to  com 
pare  great  things  with  things  which  can  hardly  be  called 
small)  had  melted,  and  avalanche  and  torrent  were 
plunging.  24 


278  Neighbors'  Wives. 

When  she  recovered,  aiffl  her  man  had  altogether  come 
to,  they  witnessed  an  alarming  movement.  Attention 
had  too  long  been  directed  to  them.  The  excitement 
which  had  so  far  sustained  old  Mrs.  Dane,  and  the  emo 
tion  which  agitated  her,  had  passed  away,  and  taken  her 
life-force  with  them.  Abel  and  Eliza  had  simultaneously 
observed  her  sinking.  They  caught  her,  they  bore  her 
to  the  prisoner's  narrow  bed.  No  shriek,  no  violent  out 
cry  for  help;  but  silent  celerity,  a  murmur  of  grief, 
and  all-absorbing  sadness  and  tenderness,  gave  token  of 
the  entrance  within  those  walls  of  the  unseen  messenger, 

—  the  same  who  enters  alike  the  abode  of  the  fortunate 
and  the  dwelling  of  the  wretched,  and  waits  not  for  doors 
to  be  opened,  and  stops  not  for  prison-bolts  and  bars. 

"  Abel  —  children,"  —  faintly  fell  the  voice  of  the  dy 
ing,  — "  where  am  I  ?  "  She  revived  a  little,  and  saw 
the  beloved  faces  bending  over  her  surcharged  with 
love  and  sorrow.  "  I  remember  !  "  And  the  smile  of 
the  dying  was  sweet.  "  My  son  !  I  shall  be  with  you  !  " 

The  assistant-jailer  entered,  and,  failing  to  perceive 
the  solemn  mystery  that  was  enacting,  announced  that 
the  visitors'  time  was  up. 

"  True,"  whispered  the  scarce  audible  voice,  "  my  time 

—  is  up.     I  am  going.     Eliza  !   do  not  mourn  !     Our 
heavenly  Father,  —  he  is  merciful  !     He  has  sent  for 
me  ! " 

Her  clear  and  beautiful  countenance  became  singularly 
Illumined.  Something  had  been  said  of  calling  a  physi 
cian. 


The  Old  Lady  takes  Final  Leave.     279 

"  No  —  tell  them,"  she  roused  herself  to  remonstrate. 
"  Let  me  go  —  in  peace.  Only  my  children  around  me. 
Tell  Mr.  Apjohn  — I  thank  him.  And  Mrs.  Apjohn  — 
I  forgive  her." 

Aghast  and  pale,  like  one  lately  raised  from  the  dead, 
the  cooper  stood  behind  the  bed,  and  saw  and  heard. 
Mrs.  Apjohn  wrung  her  hands  with  unavailing  remorse. 

"  It's  me  that's  done  it !  it's  me  that's  done  it !  "  came 
bubbling  from  her  lips. 

"  Where  is  Ebby  ?  "  the  dying  woman  asked.  Abel 
lifted  up  the  boy.  "Here,"  she  added,  with  a  feeble 
motion  of  her  hand  upon  her  breast.  Abel  placed  him 
softly  there.  She  kissed  him  with  her  pallid  lips;  she 
caressed  him  with  her  pallid  hands,  and  murmured  a 
blessing;  and  Abel  took  him  gently  away.  "Faustina, 
—  where  is  she  ?  " 

The  guilty  girl  was  crouching,  fear-stricken,  over  the 
foot  of  the  bed;  watching,  with  I  know  not  what  fren 
zied  thoughts,  the  death  of  which  her  own  heart  told 
her  she  was  the  cause.  Eliza  led  her  forward,  strangely 
shrinking. 

"  My  daughter  1 "  Weakly  the  cold,  death-stricken 
hand  took  the  fevered  hand  of  the  living.  Starting  back 
instinctively,  Faustina  snatched  away  her  hand,  and 
Eliza's  was  taken  instead.  "Abel — my  son!"  His 
hand  was  taken  also;  and,  now  in  the  blindness  of  death 
not  seeing  what  she  did  (though  I  think  the  spirit  saw, 
and  knew),  the  parting  mother  placed  Eliza's  hand  in 
Abel's. 


280  Neighbors'  Wives. 

"Be  a  true  —  loving  wife!  —  My  son!  love  her  al 
ways  !  —  God  bless  "  — 

She  drew  the  united  hands  to  her  lips,  which  closed 
upon  them.  Astounded,  plunged  in  deepest  affliction, 
Abel  could  not  withdraw  his  hand;  nor  could  Eliza 
hers.  Long  and  lingering  was  that  prophetic,  dying 
kiss.  Kor  did  the  hold  and  pressure  of  the  thin  aged 
fingers  relax  when  all  was  over. 

For  all  was  over  in  very  deed.  The  fingers  that  clung 
still,  and  the  lips  that  kissed  still,  were  the  lips  and  fin 
gers  of  the  dead.  And  Abel  and  Eliza  lifted  up  their 
eyes,  and  looked  at  each  other  with  emotion  unutterable; 
while  Faustina  crouched  again  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
white  and  shivering,  like  an  outcast. 


The  Beginning  of  the  End.          281 


XXX  I. 

THE   BEGINNING   OF   THE   END. 

THE  storm  whirled  and  whistled  by  the  window,  and 
the  afternoon  grew  dim,  in  that  solemn  cell.  The  hands 
of  the  living  had  been  withdrawn,  and  the  hands  of  the 
dead  were  placed  composedly  upon  the  breast  now 
stilled  forever.  Abel  stood  and  gazed  long  ;  his  counte 
nance  emerging  from  its  cloud  and  agitation  into  a 
strange,  almost  smiling  tranquillity. 

"  It  is  well !  She  is  happier."  —  He  turned  to  his  wife : 
"  You  have  now  no  care  but  our  child ;  be  faithful  and 
remember."  —  Then,  laying  his  hand  upon  Eliza's  fore 
head  :  "  You  are  free  now.  Go  to  your  husband  and  be 
happy." 

Dimmer  still  grew  the  afternoon  ;  and  the  hour  came 
when  the  corpse  must  be  carried  out,  and  Abel  must  look 
his  last  upon  it,  and  behold  Eliza  go  with  it,  to  return  to 
him  no  more.  Mrs.  Apjohn,  assiduous  and  energetic, 
accompanied;  the  cooper  had  glided  out  before,  like  a 
silent  ghost.  Lastly,  Faustina  took  leave,  with  Ebby. 
And  Abel  was  left  alone. 

Alone ;  and  the  night  descended,  tempestuous,—  sifting 
snow  and  sleet  beating  all  night  upon  the  pane;  howls 
24* 


282  Neighbors'  Wives. 

and  moans  resounding  all  night  about  the  prisoner's  cell. 
Sitting  or  walking,  he  pondered  ;  or,  lying  on  the  hard 
couch  on  which  his  mother  had  died,  he  waked,  or  slept, 
waiting  for  the  morrow. 

The  morrow  !  what  a  day  was  that !  The  storm  rag 
ing  still;  the  corpse  lying  in  the  house;  neighbors  com 
ing  in;  preparations  for  the  funeral;  the  hush  as  of 
ashes  strewn  upon  the  floor;  the  utter,  bewildering 
vacancy,  —  the  silent  ache  of  the  heart,  —  which  one 
mourner  felt,  thinking  of  the  empty  morrows  still  to 
come,  and  of  her  fellow-mourner  far  away. 

The  next  day  was  the  funeral.  Where  was  Abel 
then '?  When  the  sexton  tramped  through  the  drifts 
with  pick  and  spade  to  the  graveyard;  when  the  cus 
tomary  sermon  was  preached,  and  the  psalm  sung,  and 
the  prayer  said;  when  the  little  procession  followed  the 
corpse  to  the  fresh  heap  of  earth  thrown  up  beside  the 
snowy  mound  beneath  which  mouldered  the  ashes  of  old 
Abel  Dane,  the  carpenter,  —  the  dog  Turk  walking  seri 
ously  through  the  snow  by  Eliza's  side,  leaving  the  prints 
of  his  feet;  when  Eliza  lifted  Ebby  up  to  take  a  last 
look  of  what  had  been  his  good  old  grandmamma's  face, 
before  the  coffin-lid  was  closed  and  screwed  down; 
when  the  coffin  was  lowered,  and  the  gravel  shovelled  in 
upon  it,  to  the  sound  of  the  tolling  bell;  and  the 
mourners  and  neighbors  returned,  dazzled  by  the  sud 
den  glitter  of  sunshine  on  the  pure,  new-fallen  snow  ;  and 
Eliza  entered  once  more  the  hollow  house,  and  listened 
to  the  drip  of  the  eaves,  and  the  blue  sky  smiled 


The  Beginning  of  the  End.  283 

overhead,  and  neighbors  came  and  went;  — where,  all 
this  time,  was  Abel  ? 

Side  by  side  now,  in  the  white  and  quiet  field,  under 
the  pacified  December  weather,  slept  all  that  was  mor 
tal  of  old  Abel  Dane  the  carpenter,  and  of  Abigail  his 
wife;  while  Abel,  son  of  the  preceding,  was  buried, 
mortal  part  with  the  immortal,  in  a  very  different  tomb. 

Would  you  penetrate  that  mausoleum  of  the  living,  — 
behold  him  with  shaven  crown,  in  convict's  cap  and  coat, 
the  livery  of  the  doomed,  —  visit  him  when  he  eats,  in 
his  whitewashed  solitary  cell,  the  crust  by  the  state 
provided,  —  stand  by  when  he  subdues  his  spirit  to  work 
under  an  overseer,  at  the  work-bench  of  condemed  horse- 
thieves  and  burglars,  his  predecessors  and  companions, 
—  witness  the  sweat  of  his  body  and  the  sweat  of  his 
soul,  the  clays  and  nights  of  his  long  death  ?  — 

For  this  living  is  true  dying  ; 
This  is  lordly  man's  down-lying.", 

Nay,  rather  let  us  leave  him  there,  as  we  leave  his 
mother  where  she  also  lies  buried,  and  keep  with  those 
who  still  walk  abroad  in  the  sun. 

Faustina  walks  abroad,  —  or  is  at  liberty  to  do  so. 
And  Mrs.  Apjohn  enjoys  that  precious  privilege.  And 
Tasso  Smith,  this  wild  December  morning,  comes  forth, 
basking. 

Pleased  is  Tasso;  smiling  and  airy  his  port.  A  note, 
sent  by  Melissa's  hand,  has  summoned  him  to  an  in 
terview  with  Faustina.  Locks  well  greased  and  curled, 


284  Neighbors'  Wives. 

coat  buttoned  close,  to  conceal  his  unpresentable  linen, 
his  showy  red-topped  boots  drawn  over  his  strapped- 
down  pantaloons,  he  treads  daintily  through  the  thaw 
ing  snow,  flourishing  his  light  stick.  For  the  first  time 
since  the  memorable  night  of  his  discomfiture,  he  stops 
at  Abel's  gate,  and  rings  the  door-bell  with  complacent 
mien ;  considering  that,  by  consummate  diplomacy  and 
strategic  skill,  he  has,  without  loss  to  himself,  but 
through  the  agency  of  others,  routed  his  enemy,  Abel, 
whose  castle  now  lies  at  his  mercy;  never  suspecting 
that  he  himself,  like  all  the  rest,  is  the  agent  of  a 
Power  above  them  all. 

The  garrison  of  the  place,  in  the  person  of  old  Turk, 
growls  at  his  red-topped  boots,  in  a  way  the  conquering 
hero  does  not  like.  But  Melissa  makes  haste  to  admit 
him,  and  he  is  ushered  into  the  presence  of  Faustina. 

In  the  parlor  sits  the  afflicted  daughter-in-law,  clad  in 
deep  mourning.  With  a  dreary  sigh  she  recognizes 
Tasso,  and,  half-rising,  gives  him  her  sad  hand. 

"  Come  to  condole  with  you,"  says  Mr.  Smith.  "  Aw 
ful  dispensation,  old  lady's  dying  so.  Mus'n't  let  it 
break  your  heart." 

"  Don't  mock  me,  Tasso  !  I'm  in  a  dreadful  situa 
tion  !  You've  no  idea  of  it !  " 

"  Well,  no,  I  don't  see  it." 

"  Oh,  I  am  !  Think  of  my  husband  !  What  will 
become  of  me,  Tasso  ?  " 

"  Good  joke,  I  say,  'bout  your  husband,  as  you  call 
him  !  "  chuckles  Tasso.  "  Good  'nough  for  him  ;  jeal- 


The  Beginning  of  the  End.          285 

ous,  grouty,  unhospitable  feller,  like  him  !  Don't  you 
go  to  sheddin'  no  unnecessary  tears  on  his  account,  — 
le'me  me  advise  ye." 

But  Faustina  had  fears  for  her  own  safety  and  reputa 
tion.  "  Murder  will  out,  folks  say ;  and  I  believe  it," 
she  declared,  in  allusion  to  her  own  guilty  secret. 

"  Fudge,  no  danger  !  Only  you  walk  pertty  straight 
now,  and  do  as  I  tell  ye,  —  conform'ble  to  my  s'ges- 
tions,  y'  und'stand.  If  a  feller's  only  shrewd  enough, 
he  can  do  what  he's  a  mind  to  in  this  world,  and  not  git 
found  out.  There's  my  little  compliment  to  Ma'am  Ap- 
john, —  tomatuses,  ye  know,"  whispered  the  highly  sat 
isfied  Tasso,  —  "  who's  found  that  out  ?  By  George  ! 
they  think  'twas  Abel,  to  this  day  !  " 

"  O  Tasso  ! "  exclaimed  Faustina,  "  that's  one  thing 
I  wanted  to  see  you  about.  Mrs.  Apjohn  knows, — 
she  has  heard,  somehow,  —  the  gracious  knows  how,  I 
don't ! " 

"  Heard  what !  Not  that  I "  —  began  the  startled,  in 
credulous  Mr.  Smith. 

"Yes;  in  the  jail,  before  Abel,  she  declared  that  it 
was  you,  as  she  had  certain  means  of  knowing." 

"  Most  'stonishing  thing  !  "  muttered  Tasso,  confused 
to  learn  that  his  brag  of  superior  shrewdness  had  been 
somewhat  premature.  "  She  must  have  guessed  at  it." 

"  So  I  suppose.  But  she  turned,  and  accused  me  so 
positively  of  having  first  told  you  of  her  stealing 
our  tomatoes,  that  I  couldn't  deny  it.  How  she  ever 
knew  that,  I  can't  surmise." 


286  Neighbors'  Wives. 

But  Tasso  thought  he  could ;  for  it  had  not  been  in 
his  nature  to  refrain  from  imparting  the  pith  of  so  ex 
cellent  a  jest  to  one  or  two  choice  companions,  whom  he 
now  cursed  in  his  heart.  Faustina,  perceiving  that  her 
version  —  or  rather  perversion  —  of  the  facts  was 
received,  assumed  the  air  of  a  person  who  had  had 
injuries,  and  went  on,  — 

"  So  you  see  the  blame  all  fell  on  me,  after  all.  And 
I  thought  it  was  too  bad  !  I  shall  hear  of  somebody's 
betraying  me  altogether,  next." 

Tasso,  completely  outlied  by  the  fair  Faustina,  after 
all  his  conceited  cunning,  protested  that  her  suspicion 
was  unfounded,  and  volunteered  some  excellent  advice 
and  consolation. 

"Don't  you  have  no  fears  whatever,  —  indulg'u'  in 
unfounded  apprehensions,  y'  und'stand.  ]S"o  use  ;  all 
right  you  are;  and  you  can  jest  go  and  take  your  pick 
of  another  husband  soon  as  ye  please,  —  handsome 
woman  like  you.  Ye  can  git  a  divorce  now,  j'e  know 
it?" 

"  A  divorce  ?  "  Faustina  looked  up  with  interest. 
"  From  Abel  ?  " 

"  Of  course  !  didn't  you  know  ?  Five  years  in  state's- 
prison,  —  that's  a  sufficient  ground  for  a  divorce,  in  this 
State.  And,  by  George,  Faustina  !  —  charming  woman 
like  you,  —  of  course  you  aint  so  soft  as  to  keep  tied  to 
a  state's-prison  culprit,  in  for  five  years,  when  you've 
only  got  to  say  the  word,  to  swap  him  off  for  some- 
thin'  more  attractive,  more  suitable  to  your  refined 


The  Beginning  of  the  End.          287 

tastes;"  and  Mr.  Smith  smoothed  the  curve  of  his 
mustache  with  a  significant,  seductive  smile. 

Much  more  sage  counsel  of  the  kind  the  disinterested 
visitor  gave  freely,  without  incurring  any  very  severe 
reprimand  from  Faustina,  who  only  sighed  and  raised 
feeble  objections.  They  then  parted,  on  quite  confi 
dential  terms.  Thus  Faustina  had  made  haste  to  break 
one  of  her  solemn  promises  to  Abel,  —  that  she  would 
avoid  all  unprofitable  associates;  and  "it  could  hardly 
be  expected  that  her  other  promises  would  be  kept 
more  sacredly. 

The  remainder  of  the  day,  and  the  night  that  fol 
lowed,  when  she  should  have  remembered  Abel,  in 
prison  for  her  sake,  and  have  had  no  care  but  for  his 
child,  what  was  she  feverishly  dreaming  ? 

The  next  morning,  hurried  and  fluttering,  she  ap 
peared  before  Eliza.  For  Eliza  still  remained  in  the 
house,  from  which  she  could  not  resolve  to  depart,  al 
though  those  she  loved  had  gone,  and  a  husband  and 
a  home  awaited  her  in  another  place. 

"  I  have  concluded,"  said  Faustina,  "  that  I  ought  to 
go  and  see  my  relations,  and  make  some  arrangements 
for  the  future.  I  suppose  I  can  live  with  them,  and 
this  house  can  be  let  until  Abel  —  until  we  want  it 
again." 

"  And  Ebby?"  said  Eliza. 

«  Oh  !  —  Ebby,  —  I  was  about  to  say,  —  I  suppose  — 
I'd  better  not  take  him  with  me  ;  for  I  don't  know  yet 
what  I  am  going  to  do.  If  I  make  such  arrangements 


288  Neighbors'  Wives. 

as  I  hope  to,  I  will  either  return  for  him,  or  have  Me 
lissa  bring  him  to  me.  You  wont  object  to  waiting  a 
few  days,  until  I  can  decide,  will  you  ?  " 

"By  no  means,"  answered  Eliza.  "I  will  remain  as 
long  as  I  can  be  of  service  here,  and  do  all  I  can  for 
you.  "With  regard  to  Ebby,  I  have  had  it  in  my  mind 
to  say  to  you,  that,  if  you  cannot  conveniently  keep 
him  with  you,  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  take  him." 

"  What !  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Faustina,  with  real  or 
affected  surprise.  "  Abel  would  never  consent  to  such 
a  thing  !  " 

Eliza  suppressed  some  words  of  bitter  truth  that  rose 
from  her  heart  almost  to  her  lips;  and,  after  a  little 
pause,  replied  calmly,  — 

"  I  ventured  to  speak  to  Abel  about  it.  And  he  said 
that  in  case  you  should  find  it  too  hard  to  take  care 
of  Ebby,  he  was  willing  that  I  should  have  him." 

"  I'm  not  willing,  if  he  is,"  retorted  Faustina,  decided 
ly.  "  I  can  never,  never  be  parted  from  my  darling 
boy  ! " 

Eliza  regarded  her  with  deep,  sad  eyes.  "  I  know," 
she  said,  very  quietly,  "  it  would  be  too  cruel  to  separate 
you  from  him." 

"No,"  said  Faustina;  "I  could  never  suffer  it.  It 
would  not  be  kindness  to  the  child.  Who  can  fill  a 
mother's  place  ?  " 

"True,"  said  Eliza,  with  something  too  solemn  for 
sarcasm,  from  the  depths  of  her  aggrieved  spirit;  "who 
can  fill  the  place  of  a  mother  ?  " 


The  Beginning  of  the  End.          289 

"  So  that  is  settled,"  exclaimed  the  exemplary  mother, 
very  positively. 

"  Still,"  replied  Eliza,  "  you  may  remember  my 
offer." 

"  I'll  remember  it;  and  it  is  very  kind  in  you,  cer 
tainly.  But  if  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  remain 
here  a  few  days,  as  I  said,  —  not  more  than  a  week,  at 
the  most,  —  I'll  be  infinitely  obliged  to*you ;  after  that, 
I  think  I  shall  not  find  occasion  to  trouble  you  any 
farther." 

That  day  Faustina  departed.  At  the  end  of  a  week 
Eliza  had  not  heard  from  her.  Another  week  also  passed 
without  bringing  any  tidings  of  the  absent  mother.  Ac 
cordingly  Eliza,  finding  herself  in  a  perplexing  situation, 
wrote  to  inquire  what  were  her  prospects  and  intentions. 
Several  days  after  the  letter  was  sent,  there  came  a 
tardy,  despondent,  indefinite  reply.  Faustina  had  not 
been  able  to  accomplish  her  object  as  yet.  She  had 
been  ill,  —  else  she  would  have  written  earlier.  Some 
of  her  relatives  were  absent,  and  she  could  not  form  any 
plans  until  their  return,  etc. 

Eliza  could  not  peer  through  the  mists  of  distance, 
and  see  this  passionately  devoted  mother  of  the  child 
from  whom  she  could  never,  never  be  separated,  seek 
ing  distraction  and  solace  in  the  home  of  her  spoiled 
and  petted  girlhood.  She  could  not  hear  the  objurga 
tions  hurled  by  her  flatterers  at  the  villain  husband,  the 
utterly  remorseless  Abel,  who  had  ruined  the  hopes  and 
happiness  of  so  beautiful  a  being.  She  possessed  no 
25 


290  Neighbors'  Wives. 

means  to  penetrate  that  beautiful  being's  breast,  and  dis 
cover,  among  the  selfish  purposes  there  cherished,  the  se 
cret  determination  never  to  return  to  the  convict's  home 
again,  and  never  to  be  troubled  with  the  maintenance 
of  his  child.  So  Eliza  remained  in  doubt,  and  did  her 
duty  to  Ebby,  and  wrote  to  Abel  as  cheerful  and  com 
forting  letters  as  she  could,  —  letters,  by  the  way,  which 
were  not  nearly  so  abundant  in  protestations  of  affection 
and  fidelity  as  those  he  was  at  the  same  time  receiving 
from  Faustina. 

At  length  Eliza  became  weary.  The  house  had  grown 
lonesome  and  ghostly  to  her  oppressed  heart.  She  wished 
to  be  away.  She  resolved,  therefore,  to  place  no  more 
reliance  upon  the  mother's  promises,  but  to  go,  and  take 
Ebby  with  her. 


Miss  Jones  and  Mr.  Smith.          291 


XXXII. 

MISS   JONES  'AND   MR.  SMITH. 

"  WE  will  shut  up  the  house,  Melissa.  You  can  keep 
the  key  of  it  until  Mrs.  Dane  decides  what  she  is  going 
to  do.  Those  things  in  the  closet  ought  to  be  sent  to 
her,  so  as  to  leave  as  few  as  possible  locked  up  in  the 
house." 

"  Them  things  is  mine,  if  you  please,  ma'am,"  said 
Melissa,  hanging  her  head,  and  casting  up  timid  glances 
at  Eliza. 

"  Yours,  girl  !  Did  Mrs.  Dane  give  you  those 
dresses  ?  " 

Melissa  hesitated,  corkscrewing  a  foolish  finger  into  a 
corner  of  her  mouth,  as  if  she  meant  to  uncork  it. 

"  Yes,  she  did,  if  you  please,  ma'am." 

"  Why  did  you  never  take  them,  then  ?  " 

"  'Cause,  ma'am  "  —  Melissa  was  making  a  spiritless 
attempt  to  introduce  her  fist  after  her  finger,  and  talk 
ing  at  the  same  time,  —  "I  wa'n't  sure,  ma'am,  's  I'd 
ought'er  take  'em.  I  don't  know  hardly  now  whuther 
I'd  ought'er  take  'em,  or  whuther  I  hadn't  'dought'er.  I 
ruther  guess"  (down  went  the  timid  eyes,  very  meekly) 
"  I  hadn't  'dought'er  take  'em,  after  all." 


292  Neighbor^  Wives. 

"  If  she  gave  them  to  you,  they  are  yours, -and  you 
shall  certainly  have  them,"  said  Eliza. 

But  now  a  sense  of  guilt  and  shrinking  fear  overcame 
the  conscientious  Melissa. 

"No,  no,  ma'am;  1  wont  take  'em,  if  you  please, 
ma'am;  it  wouldn't  be  right.!' 

"  "Why  not,  if  they  were  given  to  you  for  honest  ser 
vice  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear  !  they  wa'n't  !  I'm  afraid  they  wa'n't, 
ma'am  !  "  whimpered  the.  girl.  "  Don't  ax  me  no  more 
about  it,  if  you  please,  ma'am."  And  the  apron  was 
got  in  readiness  for  an  imminent  outburst. 

Now  Eliza  had  not  lived  three  months  in  that  house, 
and  observed  the  external  daily  life  of  it,  without  sus 
pecting  that  there  were  things  hidden  beneath  the 
surface  which  should  be  brought  to  light.  Especially 
since  the  morning  when  she  returned  from  Abel  in  the 
jail,  and  entered  the  room  where  his  wife  lay  expect 
ing  Melissa,  had  she  been  conscious  of  extraordinary 
confidences  between  mistress  and  maid,  in  which,  per 
haps,  Abel's  honor  was  concerned.  Still  she  had 
avoided  hitherto  any  attempt  to  pry  into  these  secrets ; 
and,  but  for  the  girl's  singular  conduct  on  this  occasion, 
what  followed  might  never  have  occurred.' 

Miss  Jones  threw  her  apron  over  her  head  to  defend 
herself,  begging  for  mercy. 

"  Mercy,  child  ?  "  said  Eliza.  "  Why  do  you  talk  and 
act  in  this  way  ?  What  harm  will  happen  to  you,  if 


Miss   Jones  and  Mr.   Smith.         293 

you  tell  the  truth  about  the  dresses,  and,  if  they  are 
yours,  take  them?  " 

"  I  don't  want  'em  ! "  sobbed  Melissa  in  her  apron. 
"Please,  ma'am,  don't  make  me  take  'em;  and  don't 
make  me  tell  the  truth  about  'em,  for  Mrs.  Dane  told 
me  never  to  tell  the  truth,  so  long  as  I  live.  Oh  !  Oh  ! 
Oh!" 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  She  told  you  never  to  tell  the  truth  ? 
Nonsense  ! " 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  did,  ma'am  !  She  give  me  the  things 
to  hire  me  never  to  tell;  and  I  wa'n't  never  to  tell  why 
she  give  'em  to  me;  and  now,  oh,  dear,  dear,  dear,  I've 
been  and  gone  and  told  ! " 

Eliza,  now  fully  roused,  endeavored  to  pacify  her, 
then  said,  firmly,  — 

"  I  certainly  do  not  wish  you  to  tell  anything  which 
you  ought  not  to.  But,  do  you  know,  Melissa,  it  may 
be  very  wrong  for  you  not  to  tell  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  ma'am;  I've  thought  so  myself  many  and 
many  a  time,  and  told  Mrs.  Dane  so;  and  then  she'd 
give  me  something  else,  and  make  me  promise  ag'in, 
and  tell  me  buggers  would  ketch  me  if  ever  I  lisped  a 
word  on't !  And,  oh,  dear,  dear,  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Think  it  over,"  said  Eliza,  "  then  do  just  what  you 
think  is  right.  If  what  you  know  has  any  connection 
with  Abel's  being  in  prison,  where  we  are  so  sure  he 
ought  not  to  be,  then,  as  you  fear  God  more  than  you 
do  Mrs.  Dane,  speak  !  " 

"Oh,  I  will!   I  will  !"  exclaimed  Melissa,  throwing 


294  Neighbors'1  Wives. 

off  her  apron,  and  all  concealment  with  it.  And  as  her 
face  emerged  red  and  wet  from  that  covering,  so  the 
truth  came  out  glowing,  and  saturated  with  tears  of 
repentance,  from  the  cloud  of  deception  which  had  been 
so  long  laid  over  it.  A  tragic  interest  held  Eliza,  as 
she  listened. 

"  Who  else  knows  of  this  but  you  ?  anybody  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Nobody,  not  as  I  know  on,  'thout  'tis  Tasso  Smith, 
—  she's  told  him  some  things,  I  don't  know  how  much." 

Eliza  left  the  girl  wiping  her  face  ;  and,  throwing  on 
her  bonnet  and  shawl,  set  out  to  call  on  Mr.  Smith. 

As  she  was  passing  Mr.  Apjolm's  house,  Mrs.  Ap- 
john  threw  open  a  front  window,  showed  her  animated 
russet  face,  and,  putting  out  an  arm  of  the  biggest, 
beckoned  violently. 

"  Come  in  here  !  come  in  here  !  "  she  cried.  *'  Come 
right  straight  in,  'Lizy;  without  a  word  !  " 

Not  knowing  what  momentous  question  was  at  issue 
or  what  lives  were  at  stake,  Eliza  felt  impelled  to  go  in 
and  see.  She  ran  to  the  door,  which  the  excited  Pru 
dence  opened  for  her,  and,  entering,  beheld  with  surprise 
the  pale,  pimpled,  simpering  face  of  a  worried  youth, 
whom  Mrs.  Apjohn  indignantly  pointed  out  to  her. 

It  was  Mr.  Tasso  Smith,  —  entrapped,  it  seemed,  ex 
pressly  for  her.  Behind  Tasso  stood  Mr.  Cooper  Ap 
john,  submissive,  sighing  and  winking,  and  meekly  en 
deavoring  to  deprecate  his  wife's  wrath. 

"  Look  at  him  !  "  said  Prudence.    "  I  want  ye  to  look 


Miss  Jones  and  Mr.  Smith.          295 

at  him  well,  'Lizy  !  See  if  ye  can't  make  hiin  blush,  — 
for  I  can't !  the  miserable,  lyin',  pompous,  silly,  con- 
saited  jackanapes  ! " 

"  Prudy  !  Prudy !  don't  be  rash  I  don't  be  rash, 
Prudy  !  "  interposed  the  cooper. 

"Oh,  let  her  speak  her  mind,"  said  Tasso,  with  a 
ghastly  grimace.  "Like  to  have  folks  speak  their 
minds,  —  express  their  honest  sentiments,  y'  und'- 
stand;"  and  he  pulled  his  mustache  nervously. 

"You  needn't  be  the  leastest  mite  consarned  but 
what  I'll  speak  mine,"  Mrs.  Apjohn  informed  him. 
"  I've  been  waiting  to  git  holt  of  ye  ever  sence  the 
trial.  An'  you've  kep'  out  of  my  way  perty  well,  — 
as  if  you  knowed  what  was  good  for  yourself,  you 
sneakin',  desaitful,  underhand,  silly,  grinnin',"  — 

"  Prudy  I  Prudy  !  "  interrupted  the  cooper. 

"I  was  jest  walking  by,  like  any  quiet  gentleman,"/ 
Tasso  explained  to  Eliza,  "when  she  reshed  out,  by 
George  !  and  actchilly  collared  me,  by  George  !  J'ever 
hear  of  such  a  thing  ?  By  George,  I  thought  she  meant 
to  serve  me  as  she  did  Dane's  tomatoes,  —  steal  me  and 
cook  me  and  eat  me  for  dinner  !  by  George  !  " 

At  that  Prudence  collared  him  again,  and  choked  and 
shook  the  pale  joker  till  his  teeth  chattered. 

"  See  here  !  better  take  care  !  my  clo'es  !  "  observed 
Tasso,  startled  by  the  cracking  of  stitches. 

"  I  don't  care  for  your  clo'es  ! "  said  Prudence,  furi 
ously.  "  Insult  me  to  my  face,  will  ye  ?  You  dirty, 
mean,  impudent,  dastardly,  squash-faced,  measly,"  — 


296  Neighbor^  Wives. 

"  Prudy  !  Prudy  !  "  whispered  the  cooper. 
Eliza  now  thought  it  time  to  interfere.     Her  calm, 
decisive  manner  exerted  a  Christianizing  influence  over 
the  energetic  Prudence. 

"  Wai,  then  !  "  said  the  latter,  "to  come  to  the  p'int7 
what  I  wanted  of  you  is  this  :  I've  charged  this  scoun 
drel  here  with  hangin'  them  tomatuses  on  to  my  door, 
and  he  denies  it." 

"  Certainly  I  do,"  corroborated  Tasso,  —  who,  it  may 
as  well  be  told,  having  conferred  with  his  cronies,  who 
he  feared  had  betrayed  his  secret,  and  become  con 
vinced  that  they  had  not,  was  now  prepared  to  maintain 
his  innocence  by  stoutest  lies.  "  And  I  defy  her  to 
prove  it." 

"  And  I,"  added  Prudence,  "  of  course,  told  him  what 
Faustina  said  that  day  in  jail.  But  he  declares  she 
never  said  no  sech  thing,  but  I  said  it,  and  tried  to  git 
her  to  own  up  to  it !  Now,  what  I  want  of  you  is,  to 
tell  jest  what  was  said  that  day,  and  who  said  it."  And 
Mrs.  Apjohn  folded  her  immense  arms. 

Thereupon,  in  few  words,  Eliza  related  the  simple, 
direct  truth.  That  dashed  the  spirits  of  young  Smith 
more  than  all  Mrs.  Apjohn's  hard  names  and  shaking 
had  done. 

"  By  George  !  'd  she  say  that  ?  What  else  'd  she 
say  ?  by  George  !  "  —  glaring  maliciously. 

Eliza  perceived  that  the  moment  was  ripe  for  her  pur 
pose.  Her  eyes  held  him,  as  she  spoke,  by  the  power 
of  their  earnestness  and  truth. 


Miss  Jones  and  Mr.  Smith.          297 

"  She  did  not  say  all  she  might  have  said.  She  was 
more  ready  to  accuse  others  than  to  take  any  blame  to 
herself.  It  is  your  turn  now,  Tasso  Smith,  to  speak  the 
truth  concerning  Faustina  Dane." 

Tasso  smirked  and  glared,  hesitating  between  resent 
ment    against  Faustina    and    an    unforgotten    grudge* 
against  Eliza. 

"  Shouldn't  think  you'd  expect  much  truth  from  me, 
after  the  ruther  hard  joke  you  tried  onto  me  that  day 
in  the  court-house;  callin'  me  a  liar,  right  'fore  all  the 
people,  by  George  !  " 

Sturdy  little  Eliza,  unabashed  by  this  retort,  stood  up 
unflinchingly  facing  him,  her  brow  beaming  with  courage 
and  sincerity. 

"  And  did  you  not  deserve  that  I  should  call  you  a 
liar  ?  Eemember  what  you  were  saying  of  Abel  at  the 
very  time,  —  and  of  Faustina,  —  when  you  knew  every 
word  you  said  was  false.  If  I  had  known  then,  what 
I  know  now,  I'd  have  dragged  you  before  the  court,  and 
compelled  you  to  testify  !  " 

"  Hey  V  By  George  !  what  did  I  know  ?  "  said  Tasso. 

"  That's  what  you  are  to  confess  before  ever  you  quit 
this  house  !  And  don't  imagine  you  can  deceive  me  jn 
any  particular.  Mrs.  Dane  had  more  confidants  than 
one ;  and  everything  has  been  revealed.  I  was  on  my 
way  to  see  you;  for  it  is  time  you  should  do  something 
to  avert  the  suspicion  of  being  her  accomplice," 

"  By  George  I  I  warn't  no  accomplice  of  nobody's  : 
I'll  resk  that  suspicion  !  " 


298  Neighbors'  Wives. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  !  "  Eliza  warned  him.  "  Abel  Dane 
felt  himself  safe  against  a  false  charge,  trusting  in  his 
own  innocence.  You  are  in  some  danger,  Tasso  !  You 
sold  Mrs.  Dane  the  jewels;  you  are  aware  how  she 
paid  for  them,  and  how  she  replaced  the  money  with 
4  which  she  paid  for  them.  You  see  the  truth  is 
known." 

Tasso  saw,  and  felt  sick.  It  took  him  not  long  now  to 
make  up  his  mind  what  to  do.  Since  Faustina  had  set 
the  example  of  treachery  by  betraying  him,  — and  since 
her  other  confidants,  of  whom,  he  now  thought,  she 
might  have  twenty,  had  also  set  the  example,  —  he 
resolved  to  waste  no  time  in  purging  himself  of  the 
aforesaid  suspicion. 

"  Sit  down,"  Eliza  directed,  with  a  quick,  quiet,  domi 
nant,  business-like  manner.  And  Tasso  sat  down. 

"  Mrs.  Apjohn,  bring  me  a  pen  and  ink." 

A  pen,  used  in  keeping  the  cooper's  accounts,  and  in 
making  memoranda  in  the  almanac,  was  produced,  to 
gether  with  some  muddy  ink. 

"  Now,  sir,  tell  your  story.  You  are  not  under  oath 
yet,  but  you  will  be  before  I  am  through  with  you. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Apjohn,  listen." 

They  listened;  and  Eliza  wrote;  while  Tasso  pro 
ceeded  to  make  his  astounding  revelations,  by  which 
Melissa's  statement  was  fully  confirmed. 

"  O  Prudy  !  Prudy  !  "  cried  the  wonder-stricken 
John.  "  Abel  is  a  innocent  man,  arter  all !  And  he  is 
in  for  five  year'  !  and  his  mother  has  been  killed  by  it  I 


Miss   Jones  and  Mr.   Smith.          299 

and  we  —  we've  been  —  O  Prudy  !  Prudy  I  To  be  sure, 
to  be  sure  1  " 

Eliza  did  not  wait  to  hear  the  exclamations  and 
lamentations  of  the  worthy  pair;  but,  fastening  herself 
to  Tasso,  informed  him  that  he  was  to  go  presently  be 
fore  a  magistrate  and  take  oath  to  the  statement  she 
had  received  from  his  lips.  They  were  to  stop  on  their 
way  for  Melissa;  and  Mrs.  Apjohn  eagerly  volunteered 
to  "run  over  and  take  care  of  the  baby,"  during  the 
girl's  absence;  for  that  solid  and  sterling  woman  was 
now  enlisted  with  her  whole  body  and  soul  in  Abel's 
cause,  showing  herself  even  more  anxious  for  his  deliver 
ance  than  she  had  ever  been  for  his  condemnation. 


300  Neighbors'  Wives, 


XXXIII. 

ELIZA'S  MISSION. 

TASSO'S  elegant  signature  was  soon  affixed,  under  oath 
and  in  the  presence  of  witnesses,  to  the  paper  Eliza 
had  drawn  up.  Next,  Melissa's  affidavit  was  secured. 
Then,  how  to  proceed,  with  these  instruments,  to  effect 
Abel's  liberation,  became  the  important  question.  For 
now  Eliza  could  not  rest,  day  or  night,  until  the  requi 
site  steps  had  been  taken  to  restore  him  to  honor,  and 
freedom,  and  happiness. 

She  was  dismayed  when  told  that  the  sentence  must 
be  set  aside  by  due  process  of  law;  and  that,  to  make 
the  necessary  appeal,  and  await  the  slow  course  of  jus 
tice,  would  require  patience  and  time,  —  perhaps  months, 
—  when  every  moment  was  precious.  "  Besides,"  she 
was  assured,  "  any  confession  Faustina  might  have 
made,  or  might  still  make,  would  probably  be  insuffi 
cient  to  exculpate  her  husband.  They  were  one,  by 
marriage ;  for  her  actions  he  was  in  a  certain  sense  ac^- 
countable;  he  had  shared  the  fruit  of  her  crime;  and 
her  evidence,  even  if  she  chose  to  give  it,  could  hardly 
be  received  in  court,  she  being  his  wife ;  and  there  were 
many  other  difficulties  to  be  overcome.  Individuals 


Eliza 's  Mission.  301 

might  Tbe  easily  convinced  of  Abel's  inocenee ;  but  the 
law  was  not  an  individual.  The  law  had  no  conscience; 
it  was  without  sympathy  or  understanding;  it  was  a 
machine." 

Still  she  was  not  disheartened,  she  would  not  rely 
upon  the  law  to  right  the  wrong  the  law  had  done.  She 
would  rely  upon  the  human  heart,  and  upon  the  justice 
of  her  cause;  and  nothing  should  divert  her  from  her 
purpose,  or  induce  her  to  waste  an  hour  in  idle  delay,  till 
Abel  was  free. 

In  addition  to  the  affidavits  of  Tasso  and  Melissa,  she 
procured  those  of  John  and  Prudence  Apjohn,  in  which 
they,  as  chief  witnesses  against  Abel,  now  declared  their 
conviction  of  his  innocence,  for  reasons  assigned.  She 
also  visited  the  attorneys  who  had  prosecuted  him,  the 
judge  who  had  sentenced  him,  and  each  individual 
of  the  twelve  who  had  found  him  guilty.  She  car 
ried  with  her  a  well-worded  petition  which  she  had 
prepared;  and  such  was  her  eloquence,  such  her  mag 
netic  and  persuasive  earnestness,  that  lawyers,  judge, 
and  jury,  all  signed  it.  To  these  names  she  found 
no  difficulty  in  adding  the  signatures  of  a  hundred 
of  Abel's  townsmen,  including  three  ministers,  a  con 
gressman,  two  ex-members  of  the  State  legislature, 
together  with  several  selectmen,  deacons,  and  other 
prominent  citizens. 

More  than  a  week  was  consumed  in  these  preliminary 
labors,  notwithstanding  Eliza's  utmost  endeavors  to 
despatch  them  in  a  day  or  two.  From  dawn  to  mid- 
26 


302  Neighbors'  Wives. 

night  she  was  incessantly  employed,  with  a  vigor  and 
vigilance  and  hope  that  never  flagged.  At  length  all 
was  ready.  And,  armed  with  her  affidavits,  her  peti 
tion,  and  a  formidable  legal  document  which  Abel's 
counsel  had  furnished,  she  set  out,  one  memorable 
morning,  on  a  journey. 

The  petition  was  to  the  governor  of  the  State.  Her 
mission  was  to  him.  On  the  evening  of  the  same  day 
she  reached  the  capital  of  the  State  ;  and,  without  stop 
ping  even  to  change  her  attire,  inquired  her  way  hur 
riedly  through  the  strange  streets  till  she  came  to  the 
governor's  house. 

He  was  at  home.  How  her  heart  throbbed  on  being 
told  this  by  the  servant  at  the  door,  and  being  invited 
in  !  And  so,  tremblingly,  yet  with  a  brave  and  resolute 
heart,  she  entered  the  warmly-lighted  hall  of  the  house 
in  which  she  felt  that  the  question  of  Abel's  destiny  was 
to  be  finally  decided. 


Eliza  and  the  Governor.  303 


XXXIY. 

ELIZA    AND    THE    GOVERNOR. 

IN  a  quiet  little  room  she  was  told  to  sit  down,  while 
the  servant  communicated  her  name  and  the  nature  of 
her  errand  to  the  governor.  She  had  not  long  to  wait. 
His  Excellency  —  a  kind,  affable  person  —  came  pres 
ently  into  the  apartment,  looked  at  her  somewhat  curi 
ously,  shook  hands  with  her,  and  sitting  down,  like  any 
pleasant  gentleman,  with  no  frown  of  the  high  official 
about  him,  listened  to  her  story. 

He  was  a  man  who  loved  straightforward  dealing  and 
despatch;  and  the  directness,  simplicity,  and  brevity 
with  which  she  laid  her  business  before  him  made  him 
smile. 

But  he  was  a  cautious  man  withal;  and,  when  she 
had  finished,  all  he  could  promise  was,  that  the  petition, 
with  the  accompanying  documents,  should  be  carefully 
examined,  and  laid  before  his  council;  and  that  he 
would  endeavor  to  do  impartial  justice  in  the  matter. 
It  might  be  several  days,  he  said,  before  he  would  be 
prepared  to  grant  or  refuse  the  pardon  for  which  the 
hundred  petitioners  prayed;  but  there  should  be  no  need 
less  delay;  and,  if  it  would  be  any  satisfaction  to  her 


304  Neighbor?  Wives. 

impatience,  she  might  call  on  him  again  the  next  evening 
at  his  house. 

"  If  I  am  occupied,  and  cannot  see  you,  of  course,"  he 
added,  "  you  will  not  take  it  unkindly,  nor  be  discour 
aged." 

She  thanked  him,  with  tears,  which  his  gentle  and 
frank  speech  called  forth.  Hitherto  she  had  controlled 
herself  well,  —  concentrating  all  her  emotions  to  give 
power  to  her  appeal.  But  now  the  grief  she  had  held 
back,  -the  suffering  of  nights  and  days,  kept  down  by 
constant  activity,  the  hope  and  fear  she  felt,  and  her 
deep  conviction  of  Abel's  innocence,  —  deeper  and 
stronger  than  any  reason  she  could  give,  —  found  utter 
ance  in  a  few  broken  but  fervent  words  of  thanks  and  of 
entreaty.  And  so  she  departed;  not  knowing  whether 
she  had  spoken  well  or  ill,  shedding  silent  tears,  and 
moving  her  lips  to  silent  prayers,  as  she  once  more 
threaded  the  strange  streets. 

She  slept  that  night  —  for,  after  all  her  toils,  she  slept 
well  —  at  a  boarding-house  to  which  one  of  the  ex-mem 
bers  of  the  legislature  had  recommended  her.  The  next 
day  she  felt  refreshed  and  strong.  But  do  you  think 
she  spent  the  hours  that  intervened  till  night  in  viewing 
the  sights  of  the  city  ?  Not  she.  Having  learned,  by 
inquiry,  where  the  state-prison  was,  she  went  to  learn 
her  way  to  it;  so  that,  the  pardon  procured,  she  could 
hasten,  without  an  instant's  uncertainty,  to  bear  it  to 
her  dear  prisoner.  A  half-hour's  ride  and  a  few  min 
utes'  walk  brought  her  in  sight  of  the  formidable  pile. 


Eliza  and  the  Governor.  305 

There  rose  the  impassive  gray  walls,  somewhere  within 
which  she  knew  her  Abel  breathed  the  air  of  captivity, 
that  calm  winter's  morning,  while  she  breathed  the  air 
of  freedom  without.  How  mournfully  and  hopefully  "she 
walked  by  them,  and  far  around,  viewing  them  on  every 
side;  "with  what  memories  and  thrills  of  tenderness  she 
thought  of  him  there  immured,  hopelessly  plodding, 
never  suspecting  how  near  she  was  to  him;  with  what 
stifled  aspiration  and  rapture  she  anticipated  their  next 
meeting;  and  how  she  lingered,  feeling  a  strange  satis 
faction  in  being  there,  though  she  could  not  see  him  nor 
make  her  presence  known,  —  all  this  may  be  imagined, 
but  not  told. 

In  the  afternoon  she  returned  to  her  boarding-house, 
and  prepared  for  the  evening.  The  hope  of  seeing  the 
governor,  and  of  hearing  something  favorable  to  her  mis 
sion,  kept  her  heart  occupied.  But  the  hope  was  des 
tined  to  disappointment.  His  Excellency  was  absent 
from  home.  And  the  only  consolation  she  received  was 
a  notification  that  he  would  expect  to  see  her  at  his 
office  the  next  day. 

The  next  morning,  at  the  hour  assigned,  little  Eliza 
was  already  at  the  state-house,  waiting  for  the  bell  to 
strike  the  minute.  She  had  taken  care  to  find  the  doors 
of  the  executive  department;  and  punctually,  at  the  ap 
pointed  hour,  she  entered  the  awful  precincts,  and  was 
ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  governor. 

He  appeared  absorbed  in  business ;  but,  recognizing 
26* 


306  Neighbors'  Wives. 

her,  and,  looking  up  at  the  clock,  he  immediately  turned, 
and  motioned  her  to  a  seat  near  him. 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  you,"  he  said,  "  though  I  was 
obliged  to  disappoint  you  last  night." 

He  then  spoke  to  a  clerk,  who  "brought  to  him  a  pack 
age  of  papers,  which  Eliza  perceived  to  be  her  petition, 
affidavits,  and  so  forth. 

"I  have  done  something  in  this  unfortunate  affair, 
too,"  he  added;  but  his  manner  was  not  promising. 
Eliza's  eyes  were  delighted  by  no  pardon,  and  her  hopes 
began  to  sink.  "But  how  happens  it,"  he  inquired, 
u  that,  among  all  these  papers,  there  is  no  memorial 
from  the  prisoner  himself  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  said  the  earnest  girl,  "  I  can  explain  that.  He 
does  not  know  yet  that  a  pardon  has  been  applied  for. 
I  thought  it  best  not  to  inform  him;  for  I  would  not 
raise  false  expectations  in  his  mind.  Besides,  —  for  I 
wish  to  be  entirely  frank  with  you,  and  rely  upon  your 
goodness,  —  I  think  it  possible  that  he  might  not  have 
approved  of  what  his  friends  were  doing." 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  said  the  governor,  lifting  his  eye 
brows  with  some  surprise. 

"I  will  not  conceal  anything,"  replied  Eliza.  "I 
think  Mr.  Dane  was  aware  of  his  wife's  guilt;  yet  he 
would  not  expose  her.  He  preferred  to  sacrifice  him 
self  in  her  place." 

"  It  would  appear,  then,  that  he  not  only  accepted  and 
used  the  stolen  money  " 

"  O  sir  I  that  was  without  his  knowledge,  —  the  affi- 


Eliza  and  the  Governor.  307 

davits  show  that,  —  and  I  would  pledge  my  life  that  it 
is  true," 

"  And  yet,"  said  the  governor,  "  according  to  your 
own  representation,  he  concfe  tiled  her  crime,  and  thus 
became  an  accessory  after  the  fact." 

"  Do  not,  sir  !  do  not  let  appearances  and  technicali 
ties  stand  in  the  way  of  justice  !  "  Eliza  conjured  him. 
"  If  appearances  were  truths,  if  the  law  was  infallible,  I 
should  not  be  here.  Grant  that,  in  the  eyes  of  the  law, 
he  was  an  accomplice;  grant  that  it  was  criminal  to 
conceal  her  crime,  —  I  don't  care  ! "  she  cried,  with 
flashing  spirit.  "  I  know,  and  you  know,  sir,  that  it 
was  nobler  in  him  to  conceal  than  to  expose  it.  It  was  a 
holy  sacrifice  he  made  of  himself,  unworthy  as  she  was. 
His  conduct  is  to  be  admired,  and  not  blamed.  In  your 
heart  you  must  commend  it,  whatever  you  may  say. 
If  what  he  did  was  a  sin,  I  think  such  a  sinner  is  wor 
thier  of  heaven  than  many  a  precise  saint.  Such  a  spirit 
of  self-sacrifice,  —  it  overcomes  me  now  to  think  of 
it  "  —  and  Eliza  dashed  the  quick  tears  from  her  eyes. 

"  But  will  this  fine  sinner  thank  us  for  what  we  are 
doing  ?  "  asked  the  governor,  with  a  smile. 

"  He  will  at  least  forgive  me  for  saving  him  in  spite 
of  himself  and  without  his  knowledge.  And  when  he 
learns  how  his  wife  has  repaid  his  devotion  by  deserting 
his  child,  he  will  not  regret  that  justice  has  come  about 
through  her  own  indiscretion." 

"Well,"  said  the  governor,  smiling  again  very  cu 
riously,  "  if  that  does  not  satisfy  him,  I  have  something 


308  Neighbors'  Wives. 

here  that  I  think  will.  Have  you  seen  the  morning 
papers  ?  "  So  saying,  he  took  one  from  a  pile  on  the 
desk,  and  handed  it  to  Eliza,  pointing  to  a  paragraph. 
"  That  will  interest  him,  I  think." 

Eliza  read,  and  turned  white  with  astonishment  and 
indignation. 

"  O  sir  !  "  she  said  in  thick,  tremulous  tones,  after  a 
pause  of  speechless  amazement,  "  after  this  "  — 

"  After  this,"  interrupted  the  governor,  "  I  think  both 
he  and  you  will  be  satisfied  with  what  I  have  done." 
With  which  quiet  speech,  he  opened  a  drawer,  and  pro 
duced  a  large  unsealed  envelope,  which  he  placed  in  her 
hand. 

Eliza  knew  well  what  it  contained ;  and  as  she  drew 
forth  the  precious  paper,  and  unfolded  it,  she  could  but 
just  see  the  great  shining  seal  and  blurring  signature 
through  the  tears  of  joy  that  blinded  her. 


Deliverance.  309 


XXXV. 

DELIVERANCE. 

AND  now  Abel  Dane  was  summoned  from  the  prison 
workshop.  In  his  bi-colored  convict's  cap  and  coat  and 
trousers,  —  one-half  the  man  from  head  to  heel  blue, 
the  other  half  red;  one  side  the  hue  of  despondency, 
the  other  the  tint  of  shame,  —  forth  he  came,  curious 
to  know  what  was  wanted.  Following  the  warden,  he 
crossed  the  prison-yard,  ascended  the  steps  he  had 
descended  on  his  arrival  thither,  and  entered  once  more 
the  room  he  had  passed  through  when  he  left  all  hope 
behind;  —  so  changed,  since  then,  that  she  who  waited 
for  him  there  did  not  know  him,'  but  took  him  for  some 
other. 

But  he  knew  her  in  an  instant  And  at  the  first 
sound  of  his  voice,  at  a  look  out  of  those  deep,  glad 
eyes,  she  recognized,  in  the  grotesque  wight  before  her, 
the  transformed  manhood  of  AbeL 

How  they  met;  how  she  revealed  to  him  the  cause 
of  her  coming,  and  put  with  her  own  hands  into  his  the 
governor's  pardon;  and  he  knew  that  he  was  raised 
from  the  dead,  and  that  she,  his  best-beloved  was  also 
his  deliverer ;  —  I  am  aware  what  a  moving  scene 


3io  Neighbors'    Wives. 

might  be  made  of  all  this.    But  enough,  —  our  story 
draws  to  a  close. 

Abel  was  taken  in  charge  by  the  warden  for  the  last 
time.  The  clothes  he  put  off  at  his  entrance  into  prison 
were  restored  to  him;  and  he  left  behind  his  convict's 
costume,  for  the  benefit  of  some  sad  successor.  Then 
he  rejoined  Eliza;  and  they  quitted  the  prison  to 
gether. 

But  it  was  all  like  a  dream  to  him  yet.  Explanations 
were  needed  to  relieve  his  uncertainty  and  suspense. 
And  as  they  walked  the  street  together,  and  he  tasted 
with  her  the  sweet  air  of  liberty,  and  knew  that  his- 
brief,  terrible  nightmare  of  prison  life  was  indeed 
shaken  off,  she  told  him  how  his  redemption  had  been 
achieved. 

Abel  was  troubled.  In  the  midst  of  his  gratitude  and 
joy  he  was  grieved  for  Faustina,  She  was  his  wife 
still.  "  And  I  had  hoped,"  — he  began. 
-  "  I  know  what  you  hoped,"  Eliza  tenderly  replied. 
"And  I  know  —  we  all  know  —  you  have  done  every 
thing  for  her  a  hero  and  Christian  could  do.  But  in 
vain.  And,  Abel,  she  is  no  longer  your  wife." 

"  True  !  true  !  "  said  Abel.  "  By  God's  law,  may-be, 
»he  is  not.  But  man's  laws,  —  they  are  different,  —  I 
must  abide  by  them." 

He  said  this  with  a  great  sigh;  hoping  perhaps  for 
some  word  of  comforting  assurance  from  Eliza.  She 
too  was  agitated.  She  could  hardly  control  her  voke 
to  answer  him, 


Deliverance.  311 

44  Yes,  Abel.  You  must  —  you  will  be  willing  to  sub 
mit,  I  think.  But  the  law,  —  human  law,  —  what  strange, 
strange  things  it  is  sometimes  made  to  do  !  Abel,  I 
have  brought  this  to  show  you,"  And  she  gave  him  the 
governor's  newspaper,  putting  her  finger  on  the  para 
graph  his  Excellency  had  pointed  out  to  her. 

Abel  read  as  they  walked  the  street.  It  was  a  notice 
of  divorces  granted;  among  which  was  one  to  Faus 
tina  Dane,  from  her  husband,  Abel  Dane.  "  Cause  — 
state-prison.'' 

Grief  and  indignation  convulsed  him  a  moment 

"  The  injustice  of  it,  Eliza  !  —  I  in  prison  for  her 
fault !  —  and  this  after  all  her  promises  !  O  Faustina  ! 
selfish  and  impulsive  !  foolish  and  false  !  Thank  Heav 
en,  it  is  she  that  has  done  this,  and  not  I  !  " 

So  saying,  with  a  deep  breath  of  the  pure  electric  air, 
a  sense  of  relief,  a  new  sense  of  freedom,  and  of  some 
thing  deeply  and  divinely  great  and  glad,  entered  into 
him.  Eliza  perceived  it, 

"Yes,  Abel;  it  is  better.  And  oh,  is  it  not  wonder 
ful,  that  God  often  makes  those  who  would  injure  us 
the  agents  of  our  good  !  Oh,  let  us  trust  him,  let  us 
trust  him  always  !  " 

But  even  as  she  spoke,  a  shadow  as  of  a  brooding 
fatality  fell  upon  them  both.  Kot  from  the  prison  of 
stone  alone,  but  also  from  the  bondage  of  a  false  mar 
riage,  Abel  saw  himself,  this  day,  as  it  were  miraculous 
ly  delivered.  And  he  could  see  how  Tasso's  meanness, 
and  Mrs.  Apjohn's  spite,  and  Faustina's  perfidy,  —  how 


312  Neighbors'  Wives. 

all  his  misfortunes,  even  that  which  had  seemed  the 
greatest,  —  had  tended  steadily,  by  sure  degrees,  to  this 
consummation.  And  here  he  was,  a  free  man,  superior 
to  disaster  and  disgrace,  walking  by  the  side  of  the 
woman  he  loved,  and  to  whom  he  owed  his  rescue; 
and  she,  —  her  work  was  now  done,  and  nothing  re 
mained  but  for  her  to  go  and  bless  the  husband  who  had 
been  so  long  waiting  for  her,  in  the  home  he  had  prof 
fered,  and  which  she  had  promised  to  accept. 


Home.  313 


XXXVI. 

HOME. 

THEY  stopped  in  town  to  get  some  presents  for 
Ebby,  then  took  the  train,  and  reached  home  the  same 
evening. 

Alighting  at  the  village,  they  looked  in  at  the  post- 
office,  and  found  a  letter  for  Eliza.  Whence  and  from 
whom  it  came,  both  knew.  Abel  was  deeply  moved; 
and  Eliza,  it  must  be  owned,  felt  heavy  misgivings  as 
she  pressed  it  unopened  into  her  pocket. 

It  was  late;  the  fire  was  nearly  out  in  the  kitchen; 
the  candle  burned  low  in  its  socket;  Melissa  had  fallen 
asleep  over  her  knitting;  Ebby  was  dreaming  and 
smiling  in  the  cushioned  arm-chair  ;  and  old  Turk  lay  in 
the  corner. 

Suddenly  the  scene  changed.  Melissa  jumped  up, 
rubbed  her  eyes,  and,  at  the  summons  of  a  well-known 
voice,  ran  to  open  the  door.  Turk  bounced  from  the 
hearth,  and  madly  welcomed  his  master.  Ebby  also 
awoke,  and  saw  his  mamma  (as  he  always  persisted  in 
calling  Eliza),  and  his  father  who  had  come  home  with 
her,  and  the  playthings  they  had  brought  him,  and  was 
the  gladdest  boy  the  round  world  then  contained. 


314  Neighbors"  Wives. 

There  are  kisses,  and  questions,  and  supper  for  the 
new-comers ;  and  again  the  scene  changes.  Melissa  is 
sent  to  put  Ebby  to  bed.  Then  Abel  and  Eliza  alone, — 
the  clock  telling  the  minutes  of  midnight;  the  long, 
earnest,  tender,  sorrowful  talk;  —  she,  yielding  to  him 
one  all  too  sympathetic  trembling  hand,  while  with  the 
other  she  clasps  the  still  unopened  letter  in  her  pocket, 
as  if  that  alone  could  keep  her  true  to  the  absent  one ; 
there  parting  at  last,  in  anguish,  after  all  the  joy  and 
triumph  of  the  day,  —  he  lonely  and  bereft,  she  faithful 
still  in  purpose  to  her  affianced,  despite  her  most  un 
faithful  heart;  the  sound  of  the  door  that  closed  be 
tween  them,  and  the  utter  silence  and  solitude  of  the 
night  that  followed;  —  at  which  closing  scenes  of  our 
drama  we  can  only  hint,  for  were  we  to  relate  in  detail 
all  that  passed, 

The  story  would  outlast  a  night  in  Kussia, 
When  nights  are  longest  there." 

Early  the  next  morning,  Abel,  "  wrapped  in  dis 
mal  thinkings,"  having  vainly  endeavored  to  sleep, 
sat  alone  by  the  fire,  in  the  home  to  which  he  had 
been  restored,  only,  as  it  seemed,  to  feel  its  vacancy,  — 
Faustina  lost,  his  mother  gone,  Eliza  about  to  go.  !N"o 
doubt  Eliza  was  fast  asleep,  and  dreaming  of  her  -dis 
tant  lover,  to  whom  she  was  so  soon  to  return.  So 
Abel  thought, disconsolately  enough;  reflecting  ungrate 
fully  that  even  his  saddest  night  in  prison  had  been 


Home.  315 

happier  than  this;  when  he  heard  the  door  softly  open, 
and,  looking  up,  saw  Eliza.  She  smiled  faintly. 

" Darling  !  "  he  cried  ;  —  "I  knew  you  could  not  \ 
I  knew  you  would  come  back  to  me  !  "  —  though,  poor 
fellow,  he  certainly  knew  no  such  thing,  or  else,  as  he 
sat  there,  the  world  would  have  looked  to  him  somewhat 
less  dreary. 

But  Eliza,  although  she  smiled,  was  shivering,  and 
very  pale;  and  he  knew  not  yet  whether  to  hope,  or 
still  to  keep  company  with  despair. 

"  There  is  something  here  —  which  I  thought  you 
ought  to  know  of  "  —  she  said,  in  a  voice  shaking  with 
the  cold.  And  the  letter  of  her  betrothed,  which,  after 
much  unhappy  de^ay,  she  had  summoned  the  resolution 
to  read,  she  placed  in  Abel's  hand.  Ah,  different  now 
the  times  from  those  long  ago,  when  he  placed  in  her  hand 
the  letter  of  his  love,  the  beautiful  Faustina,  and  she  could 
not  read  it  for  the  wrong  that  was  wringing  her  heart! 

Perhaps,  by  this  time,  that  wrong  had  been  amply 
avenged;  as  all  wrongs  are,  soon  or  late,  in  this  world 
or  the  next. 

Abel  read  with  interest,  which  darkened  into  pain  as 
he  proceeded,  then  kindled  into  surprise,  and  brightened 
at  last  into  a  blaze  of  triumph. 

The  devoted  lover,  the  generous,  disinterested  friend, 
had  grown  at  length  impatient.  Eliza's  letters  had 
not  satisfied  him;  that  she  cared  more  for  Abel  in 
prison  than  for  him  in  the  home  he  had  offered  her,  was 
but  too  evident;  and  so,  without  penning  a  single  re- 


316  Neighbors'  Wives. 

proach  (for,  indeed,  she  had  dealt  truly  with  him  from 
the  first,  as  he  acknowledged),  but  not  without  pro 
found  regret  on  his  part,  he  begged  leave  to  release 
her  from  her  engagement. 

"  But,  Abel !  "  suddenly  exclaimed  Eliza,  disengaging 
herself  from  his  arms;  and  a  shadow  fell  upon  her 
glowing,  suffused  face. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  Abel  asked,  starting  from  the  dream 
that  their  bliss  was  perfect  now. 

"  I  OWE  THAT  DEAR  MAJST  THREE  HUNDRED  DOL 
LARS  1  " 

" Phew  !"  whistled  Abel,  pursing  up  his  brows;  for 
he  knew  this  debt  had  been  incurred  for  his  sake,  and 
that  she  had  impoverished  herself  to  fee  his  lawyers, 
and  could  not  pay  it,  and  that  he  had  never  a  cent. 

"  He  must  be  paid,"  said  Eliza. 

"  Certainly,  he  must  be  paid,"  Abel  muttered,  plunged 
in  thought,  "  but  how  ?  All  my  property  is  mortgaged. 
I  can't  borrow.  I've  sold  even  my  tool-chest.  I  can 
go  to  work,  —  and  if  ever  I  worked  with  a  will,  I  shall 
now,  —  but  that  is  a  debt  that  should  be  paid  at  once. 
He  is  a  noble  man:  he  certainly  deserved  you,  'Liza, 
better  than  I  do,  I'm  afraid,  —  I  know  !  "  feeling  with 
deep  humility  how  selfishly  he  had  acted  towards  her 
from  the  first. 

They  sat  talking  until  the  morning  was  well  ad 
vanced,  —  Abel's  mind  still  perplexed. 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and,  Melissa  opening 
it,  in  walked  John  Apjohn  the  cooper,  and  Prudence 


Home.  317 

Apjohn  his  wife;  who,  having  heard  of  Abel's  return, 
had  hastened  to  be  the  first' to  congratulate  him. 

Prudence  was  radiant,  and  John  was  gay  and  smil 
ing,  all  his  melancholy  having  been  dissipated  by  the 
glad  tidings  of  Abel's  release  from  prison. 

"  And  if  ever  I  heerd  a  bit  o'  news  that  done  my  soul 
good,"  said  Prudence,  all  smiles  and  tears, "  it  was  when 
old  Mr.  Smith  come  to  our  house  jest  now  for  a  firkin, 
and  said  you  was  seen  gittin'  out  o'  the  stage,  you  and 
'Lizy,  up  to  the  square,  last  night." 

"  And,  I  was  a  goin'  for  to  say,"  said  John,  with  boy 
ish  eagerness,  —  "  knowin'  as  how  you  was  put  to't  for 
money  'fore  the  trial,  —  I  was  a  goin'  for  to  say,"  — 

"  Fact  is,"  —  Prudence  snatched  the  thread  of  his 
discourse,  —  "  me  and  my  husband  here  has  got  three  or 
four  hunderd  dollars  a  comin'  in  jest  about  this  time,  — 
money  we've  lent  in  years  past,  —  an'  as  we've  no 
'airthly  use  for  it  right  away,"  — 

"  An'  knowin'  't  you  sold  off  everything,"  struck  in 
the  cooper,  —  "  an'  you  must  stand  in  need  o'  somethin' 
for  to  give  ye  a  start,"  — 

"  An'  if  'twould  be  any  sort  o'  'commodation  to  you," 
resumed  Prudence,  "to  have  the  use  o'  that  money, 
'thout  interest,  for  a  year  or  so,  or  as  long  as  ye  want, 
till  ye  git  a  little  'forehanded  agin,  —  ''thout  interest" 
she  repeated,  emphatically,  —  "  why,  you're  welcome  to 
it,  you're  welcome  to  it,  Abel  Dane,  as  much  as  if  you 
was  my  own  son  !  " 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  assented  the  cooper. 


318  Neighbors'1  Wives. 

"  O  Abel  !  how  we  are  provided  for  ! "  exclaimed 
Eliza. 

Abel  shook  his  neighbors  heartily  by  the  hand,  and 
thanked  them  with  deeper  joy  and  gratitude  than  he 
could  express,  and  of  course  consented  to  relieve  them 
of  their  superfluous  hundreds;  sending  them  home 
rejoicing. 

The  debt  was  paid,  and  Abel  began  life  anew. 

And  so  all  things  came  duly  round  at  last:  the  circle 
grew  complete,  —  Abel  obtaining  without  long  delay  a 
divorce  from  his  already  divorced  wife,  and  entering 
with  Eliza  the  path  of  blessedness  into  which  the  devi 
ous  ways  of  difficulty  and  the  sometimes  dark  ways  of 
duty  had  led  them. 

It  remains  to  add  only  a  word.  Faustina  never  saw 
husband  or  child  again.  But  while  Abel  consoled  him 
self,  and  Ebby  found  indeed  a  mother  in  Eliza,  she,  the 
beautiful  one,  married  a  second  time,  and  lives,  as  I 
learn,  a  gay  life. 

And  so  poetical  justice  is  not  done  ?  Very  well; 
divine  justice  is  done,  nevertheless.  I  am  not  aware 
that  either  she  or  Tasso  Smith  ever  received  for  their 
misdeeds  what  the  world  calls  punishment.  But  that 
any  one  is  permitted  to  live  on,  unrepentant  and  un 
checked,  a  life  of  selfishness,  is  perhaps,  in  the  sight  of 
a  higher  Wisdom,  the  greatest  punishment  of  all. 


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Martyria ;    or,   Andersonville   Prison.      By    Lieu- 

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First   Lessons   in    Reading ;    a   New   Method   of 

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The   Phonic   Primer   and  Primary  Reader.      By 

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